


Count Your Blessings

by MadMothMadame



Category: Naruto
Genre: (I'm so glad that's a tag), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Friendship, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Senju Tobirama Needs a Hug, Tobirama is my current favorite punching bag, Uchiha Izuna Lives, Warring States Period (Naruto), but it is only because I love him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2020-10-14 11:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 190,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20600093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMothMadame/pseuds/MadMothMadame
Summary: “All war is fratricide, and there is therefore an infinite chain of blame that winds its circuitous route back and forth across the path and under the feet of every people and every nation." -Louis de BernièresThe war is over. Tobirama ended it when he put his sword through Izuna's center mass.  But where war had united the Senju behind their leader, peace threatened to tear them apart. And who better for the warmongers to look to as a leader than the greatest killer of Uchiha they had ever seen?There were only two problems with that plan. One, Tobirama would never, ever, betray his elder brother.Two, he may or may not have a surprisingly not dead Uchiha Izuna in a coma in his guest room, hiding the secret of resurrection that Tobirama needs with everything he is.Now if only he would wake.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Devil's Breath](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14298108) by [peppymint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppymint/pseuds/peppymint). 

> Title is from George Ogilvie's song "Count Your Blessings".

This was not how Izuna imagined death would feel. He had thought, at some point, that he would drift off, fade into some measure of painless oblivion before the end, but no. It was agony. Endless, it felt like. Everything burned, radiating out from his side. He felt the burn of the healers hands, utterly ineffectual in the face of the acids of his intestinal track leaking everywhere, the massive trauma Senju Tobirama had left. The fever had begun to rage the night before, so high it made his brain feel like it was melting. 

This was it. Everything was burning.

Madara was next to him. Izuna knew. He wanted to hold him, tell him it would be okay, but it wouldn’t. It was all ruined.

Izuna didn’t know what he was saying, if he was speaking or crying or begging. It was all a blur. 

Suddenly, his eyes throbbed. Worse than even the wound. He felt the black fire leak from them, made them open one last time. He wanted to tell his brother, wanted to give Madara his eyes, if only so that they might, in some small way, see the future together. Wanted to save him, tell him not to trust their enemy, not to fall into an early grave beside them. To lead their family to victory over all others. But for the burn. 

He would only get a few words. He chose them carefully.

“I love you, brother. _Farewel-_”

But the black fire burning from his eyes took him before he could finish. The last thing he heard was Madara’s scream of agony before he burned away.

-

At the edge of the Senju lands, atop of a pine that was lonely in its towering height, Tobirama stood sentry against the chaos he had unleashed. His brother had left no doubt as to on whose head all the future blood would lie. 

_“You have ruined forever any chance at peace!”_

Considering how unlikely peace had been in the first place, Tobirama thought his brother’s accusation at least a little unfair. 

Izuna was not like Madara. Whatever friendship Hashirama claimed with the Uchiha clan head did not filter to his younger brother. Izuna fought tooth and nail to kill Tobirama and any Senju in the way of his family’s victory. It was all Tobirama could do sometimes to keep up with the furious Uchiha, to keep him from slaying any more of his family. 

Sometimes it wasn’t enough, and every Senju dead at Izuna’s hand haunted him. 

It made him ill that his brother, the man who led them into battle in the first place, refused to decisively end the conflict. Shouted instead at their enemy for terms of peace. 

As though peace could somehow become a reality after so much blood had been shed between the Senju and the Uchiha. Peace was a childish dream that his brother clung to while his family bled and died around him. While he reasoned with the man who slaughtered their kin, the family who had hunted down and murdered their younger brothers. 

The anger he felt, ever unvoiced in his own bid for peace, choked him. 

_“What peace? This is war, Hashirama, not some game between you and Madara. There were lives at stake, our family’s lives!”_

_Without even looking at him, Hashirama continued to wail and rant. As though Izuna were his brother instead of Madara’s, the grief was so palpable. The weight of it grated on Tobirama’s already powerful senses, making the conversation that much more unbearable. As though Izuna being wounded was the end of everything he’d ever wanted, instead of a victory that had been hard won by his younger brother._

_“With Izuna dead, Madara will never agree to terms! You have doomed us all to an endless war that will not stop until the Senju are eradicated.” _

_Did Hashirama have to make it plain how little he regarded Tobirama’s efforts?_

_“Madara was never going to agree to peace!” Tobirama tried to reason with his brother, to make him see what had always been obvious to everyone else. Izuna had said as much himself, that he was never going to agree to peace with the Senju. It was his voice in Madara’s ear keeping the war from flagging, keeping the Uchiha from coming to terms despite their obvious disadvantage. Maybe without Izuna, Madara would finally come around to a compromise. _

_But Hashirama wasn’t listening, couldn’t hear what he was trying to say. “It is a dream we share, Tobirama. I don’t expect you to understand.”_

_Hashirama always did this, always spoke like Tobirama didn’t desire an end to the fighting that had dominated most of his life. Like Hashirama and Madara were the only two in the world who had lost enough people to force them to do anything to protect the few they had left. As though Hashirama’s losses weren’t shared by his younger brother. _

_“Without Izuna to protect, Madara’s reason for peace will disappear completely.” Tears streamed down Hashirama’s cheeks. His brother’s agony hurt him, but it had always been thus, with Hashirama’s volatile emotions to sharp and potent for Tobirama’s delicate senses. “He will never forgive me.”_

_Tobirama hated this. He hated arguing with his brother. Hashirama, for all the love and respect Tobirama bore him, could be unflinching in his wrath. He was half certain, though he’d never asked, that his brother’s emotions were sharp deliberately so they could hurt him as much as Hashirama was hurting. _

_“If I hadn’t struck him down, Izuna would have killed me.” He tried once more. Surely, Hashirama could see the truth of that? Surely, his desire for peace didn’t come at the cost of his last brother. Surely his reasons for peace were the same as Madara’s? To protect his family?_

_“You and Izuna have fought for years! He has always left it at the draw, but you-!” Hashirama stopped himself from saying it, but Tobirama could hear the condemnation regardless, the age old adage that he was just like their father, war hungry and cruel. “Could you not lay aside your hatred for one-”_

_“Not all of our enemies are as obliging as you and Madara, endlessly sparing-” he spat, angry himself now, “while your family dies around you!”_

_“And they will continue to die because of you!”_

_Silence. Hashirama’s chest heaved, and Tobiama refused to let his flinch at his brother’s judgement show. His oldest brother, the one person in the world Tobirama could honestly admit to looking up to, glared at him through the tears before forcefully turning away. Tobirama wondered if the garden his brother was glaring at had the answers, if it offered his brother peace. By the simmering anger still needling at him, he didn’t think so. _

_Summarily dismissed, Tobirama went to the door, feeling his heart crack. Looking back, he tried one last time to justify himself._

_“He would have killed me, Anija.”_

_Hashirama didn’t even turn. Tobirama left the room before he made his reply, if he even made one at all. _

So here Tobirama waited for the coming storm, turning the conversation over and over in his mind and wondering what he could do, what he should do in light of everything. 

The light filtering through the branches above danced with shadows across his face as he looked towards the horizon. Towards the Uchiha lands. All of his focus was on the Uchiha compound where Izuna’s dwindling signature flickered as it gradually sank into the oblivion of death. It wouldn’t be long now before the Uchiha’s signature disappeared completely. 

He had always subscribed to the philosophy that the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. Perhaps it was time that he live up to that philosophy. If he offered his own life to assuage Madara's wrath, how many of his family could he save? Could there be a more glorious death then to die in service of one's family? And if so, did it really make a difference if he died on the battlefield, as he had always imagined, or kneeling before an enemy in the name of peace?

Tobirama sighed, angry with himself for his hesitation, for his fear of what offering himself to Madara might entail. Torture was not outside the Uchiha’s means, he knew. There was no chance of a warrior’s death. The best he could hope for was to die on his knees, like a coward in the dirt. Who knows what horrors Uchiha Madara would enact in the name of revenge for his last beloved brother. 

Besides, even if he did give himself over to Madara, there was no guarantee that the Uchiha would halt the war in exchange for it. As a prisoner, he would have no way of holding them to their word, and even less power after he’d died. 

Though Madara would undoubtedly enact some kind of revenge for Izuna, Tobirama had no illusions that Hashirama would ever do the same. Hashirama would never stop pursuing peace, and Madara would never allow it. 

The only future he could see was the neverending war marching onwards until both families were utterly spent. It was not a future he wanted. 

But perhaps, a future where children would not have to know war as he did, where they could go into the forest without weapons and armor and come back out alive and whole rather than hunted like animals, would be worth any cost. If that was peace, then one life would be a shallow price.

He was not made for the peace Hashirama dreamed of anyway, growing old surrounded by family and a village. He could never imagine such a perfect world would tolerate someone like himself, a honed weapon. His brother was right about that at least. His whole life had been war. He knew nothing else. 

But Hashirama deserved it, deserved to live that happy peaceful life that he’d been dreaming of for so long. 

And Tobirama was willing to do anything to make that dream a reality. If dying was the cost, he would do so without regret. 

But it wasn’t that simple. If he died, who would help his brother achieve the peace he desired? Tobirama was not vain, but he knew his continued presence might serve as the fist that drove Hashirama's peace. The stick to his brother’s carrot. The quickest pathway to peace, in the wake of Izuna’s death and the Uchiha’s revenge could only be a peace bought through the threat of violence, and held with such. 

And with no one left among the Uchiha who could match him, perhaps baring Madara himself, Tobirama was essential. 

He knew, though, that Hashirama’s ideal peace was that of two equals coming together, and born of the love and respect they held for both each other and the dead. The peace Tobirama could make was not Hashirama's dream, so neither could it be Tobirama's.

Perhaps his brother was, as usual, right. There would never be peace with the Uchiha so long as Izuna's killer was to take part in it. 

Nevermind Kawarama. Or Itama. Or all the other children the Uchiha had slaughtered. No. Peace could be bought through but one more death. Hashirama thought so. Was it not, therefore, Tobirama's duty to believe it as well?

Very well, then. It was settled. The benefits outweighed the cost. 

He would return to the Senju compound and put his affairs in order this evening, and head for the Uchiha compound at first light. 

He felt certain his brother would support his decision. Anija had made that much clear. What was his own little brother in the wake of Madara’s?

Still, he thought he might stay just a little while longer. See one last sunset. One last indulgence in a life that had been mostly bereft of them.

Of course, even this was interrupted. 

The chakra flickering in the distance flared and then disappeared.

Tobirama was about to jump down from his perch, heart feeling cold as he understood there was no going back now that the Uchiha heir was dead, when the signature reappeared in a brightly burning, but quickly fading light. 

_Impossible. _

There, by the river where so much trouble had been wrought, flared a chakra signature he never thought he'd feel again.

Izuna? What was he doing all the way out here?

The blow had been a fatal one, he was certain. Izuna was dying, had died! His signature had disappeared. 

Was this some desire to enact one last shot of rage at the Senju? Tobirama was running towards the signature at the thought. 

Whatever Izuna wanted, with his chakra burning so blackly, he would not find the Senju lands undefended.

He was surprised to find the black fire he had sensed was manifested in reality. They were undoubtedly flames, so hot he could feel them from the other side of the river, absorbing light rather than emitting it, but they were stuttering, failing, snuffing out.

Tobirama cleared the river, leaping from the treetop to land beside the prone Uchiha. It was definitely Izuna, and he was definitely dying. 

Mind racing, he ignored the intense heat to kneel next to the unconscious man and felt himself at a crossroads. Everything slowed as he watched Izuna’s chest raise once, twice. Each one was one closer to the end. 

If he did nothing, he would be in the same position as before. Did he regret felling Izuna? No. Not with the amount of Senju blood the other man had spilled.

(He remembered their names, their faces, the terrified looks they’d sent him as they died, the curse of a perfect memory and being just a hair too slow). 

But did he regret the ending of Hashirama’s dream, his own role in it? Perhaps. Enough to try and fix it? Thinking back to the look on his Anija’s face, the crushing _disappointment_ there, the way that he’d so clearly let him know that he had _failed_, he thought yes. He could try.

His hands glowed green, his chakra flowing past the inadequate bandage and into the still gaping wound, flooding his chakra into the cells, carefully pulling the ends of the ruined flesh and organs together. Pinpointedly flooding those ends with his chakra, he forced the cells to split, regrow, fuse, and heal. Starting deep, the trauma started to heal.

But then, the weak and fluttering breath stopped entirely. The heart stopped beating. Tobirama had his hand laid on a dead man. 

So. That was it. He pulled back the hand, let the healing jutsu fade.

Or.

_“Necromancy.”_

He could still hear the echo of his brother’s voice. Could see him standing, silhouetted in the doorway, horror in his eyes. 

He didn’t know what had gone wrong, his attempt to recall the dead a failure. He had theorized, based on the karmic virtue on which the universe balanced, that a sacrifice was required. Rats hadn’t worked, nor rabbits, nor lambs. And standing over the body of another victim of the child hunters, a cousin he barely knew, draining the blood out of the dying animal as he pounded through the hand seals, he realized how far he’d gone. How close he’d come to considering spending the relative cost.

_“Necromancy.”_

The rational side of him said, ‘Let it go. Let him die.’

But… this could be it. The road to bringing them back could begin right here.

“_Kuchiyose: Edo Tensei!_” he shouted, felt the chakra drain as he pushed a huge amount of energy to his right hand. The world cracked like broken glass beneath the body of Izuna Uchiha as he slammed his right hand to chest.

Nothing. Silence. Had he failed, yet again?

His hands glowed green as he placed one on Izuna’s center mass, just over his heart, the other resting over the open, bleeding, red eyes. The brain, barely there, fired tiny neurons, to no avail. They were unanswered. Unbidden, Tobirama reached his chakra deep down towards the heart, and found it utterly still. He pushed his chakra in, but found no response. The heart wouldn’t beat.

He had to get in there. Had to know what was stopping the heart from continuing to beat.

His right hand flared bright blue-white as he formed a chakra scalpel. Slicing, cauterizing as he went, he cut through the skin, the fourth and fifth ribs, straight through the left lung to reach the heart.

He gripped it on instinct, squeezed, forced the blood to move. His mind raced as every study in anatomy he had ever seen flooded, searching for something. Anything.

There.

The whole body moved due to electrical impulses from the brain, electrons passing along unseen pathways, compelling the body to move, the lungs to breathe, the heart to beat. They were not making it. A reverse in polarity of the heart driven by cessation of function, a lack of oxygen to the cells. A hard reset. Repolarize. Flood electricity into the system, and like a magnet the polarity should equalize, allowing the natural rhythm to reconstitute. 

Pulling his left hand from Izuna’s eyes, he brought it to a half ram sign. Lightning was not his best element, but he could push enough for this.

He held Izuna’s heart in his right hand and cried, “Raiton!”

The whole body seized around his forearm, jolted as the muscles contracted. The heart fluttered in his hand, sputtered, stopped again.

Once more.

“Raiton!”

Another convolution. The half healed wound in Izuna’s side flexed, threatened to tear, but there!

A beat.

And then another.

Tobirama didn’t wait. Ignoring the way his hands shook and his own muscles ached, his chakra draining quickly, he jammed his other hand, glowing green once more, onto the wound, shoring up the damage he’d made as rapidly as possible. 

As soon as he was satisfied Izuna wasn’t going to perish from the new wound he’d made to get at the man’s heart, Tobirama turned his focus to sending inflated amounts of erythropoietin to the bone marrow, force speeding the process of blood cell regeneration as he slowly removed his hand in Izuna’s chest, fresh new, healthy tissue and bone left behind. 

Once free, he laid it back on Izuna’s center mass, still slick, stained with Izuna’s dark and sticky blood. Tobirama was too much a warrior to gag at the sharp tang of copper on his tongue as he monitored that Izuna’s heart was still beating, the lungs still breathing as he bathed them in soothing chakra.

Finally, the tremor and strain on his chakra became too much to ignore any longer. Tobirama had to stop or risk over exhausting himself. In the wake of the battle this morning and this extensive healing, he was nearly spent. 

He pulled back, let the green fade, and watched.

But for the absolute need to take huge, gasps of air into his lungs, part of the cost of the exertion of extended healing for the last who knows how long, Tobirama would have held his breath. He watched, looking for any sign.

Izuna breathed. And then did so again.

Tobirama took a shuddering breath himself and let his eyes close, sweat dripping down over his eyelids, all the way to fall off his chin and nose. He had never been so exhausted before.

But it had worked. For better or worse, he had brought Izuna back from the dead. 

Leaning over, Tobirama promptly threw up.

-

It took him two hours of meditation and one quick splash to the face of frigid river water for Tobirama to stop shaking.

It was no longer just Hashirama’s voice pounding in his temples, but his father’s as well.

_”My own son. Defiling corpses,” he’d hissed after Hashirama had told him._

He could still feel the slap that had gone with those words, flaring brightly on his cheek.

It didn’t matter now. He’d done it. He’d brought a dead man back to life, ultimate sacrilege or not. It was too late now.

He looked to the man next to him. Izuna hadn’t moved at all since Tobirama had healed him.

‘Healed him,’ Tobirama thought derisively. More like torn him apart and put him back together with all the finesse of an ill-trained apprentice. Who knew if the soul still remained? Had it left with his breath as the monks preached, faded with the beat of his heart? Was there even anything left of Izuna, or a hollow shell? Was this a coma like those brought on through head wounds? Would he wake up tonight? Tomorrow? Never?

All Tobirama could do was wait.

But not here. Looking up at the night sky, quickly filling with stars with the fading light, Tobirama knew this was not the place for someone in Izuna’s weakened condition, even if he were in a coma. The rapid healing would impede his body’s natural defenses for a while, leaving him wide open to infection. As soon as Tobirama’s strength recovered, he would have to move him.

But to where? To Madara, who would surely strike him down without mercy, who would assume the worst and take Izuna before he knew for certain what had caused the man to live once more? Or should he take Izuna to Hashirama, likely already asleep, who would look at Tobirama with renewed horror as he tried desperately to explain? What if Izuna didn’t wake, or woke a mindless monster, soulless and obedient? What if he became a being without a soul or its mercy, a being of pure malice and hate that the Uchiha would wield against the Senju with prejudice? These were unlikely possibilities, but…

Tobirama honestly didn’t know what had been successful. Had it been the _Edo Tensai_? If so, the possibility of the latter type of waking was more probable. Reanimation. But of what kind remained uncertain.

There was a part of him, one he tried to never allow overrule his forbearance, that wanted to just wait and see. Wanted to know.

He held that part back and forced himself to think rationally beyond the opportunity that his already irrational actions had created. He should have just let Izuna die. Now that he hadn’t, he was somewhat at a loss. He supposed he could leave him here. Hope that the Uchiha found him. Hoped that they would never understand his interference in the natural passing of their kin.

But no. Izuna was his responsibility now, for better or worse. He supposed he could send word to the Uchiha, inform them of Izuna’s presence here on this godforsaken riverbank. But what if word never made them, or made it too late, or they burned the message without reading it. Izuna would die a slow death of starvation or, more likely, exposure.

And what if he was alive? What if Tobirama had been successful? With Izuna alive, and a hostage of the Senju, perhaps he could serve as the leverage Hashirama needed to bring the Uchiha to the table for a rapprochement.

It could mean the realizing of Hashirama’s dream. Could Tobirama be the cause of that twice in one day?

No. He couldn’t.

Standing on shaky legs, he approached the prone Uchiha. Grabbing one arm, Tobirama hauled Izuna bodily over his shoulder. Spreading his senses and mustering his reserves, he pinpointed the hiraishin point he’d set into the wood of his doorway back in the Senju compound. Sensing no one around it, he closed his eyes to focus. And stepped.

Ensuring that no one saw him and his burden, who even Tobirama couldn’t sense (was he dead? Were chakra pathways linked to the soul rather than the nervous system? Something else entirely? There were so many questions, none of which he had the energy to either dwell on or work out), Tobirama brought him inside and closed the door. He hauled the other man up the stairs. His house was quaint, small and plain, bought mostly out of deference when Hashirama inherited the main house. Him continuing to live there would have been inappropriate as the marriage negotiations with Uzushio were underway. So now he had a small home on the edge of the compound, with nothing but a kitchen and living space on the main floor, a bathroom and two small bedrooms above, one of which Tobirama had furnished as a matter of course, but never used. 

Until now. The room was stale, but the futon, tucked and folded in the corner should still be serviceable. Leaning Izuna against the wall, he opened and laid it out, changing the dusty pillowcase with a fresh one. He then moved Izuna to lay on it, and perfunctorily covered him with a spare duvet. 

The Uchiha settled, Tobirama went to work warding the room with the perimeter seals he never went anywhere without. Any shift in the occupants chakra would be unnoticed by the outside, but would alert Tobirama to such changes, as it was his chakra that fed and activated them.

That done, feeling exhaustion clawing at him, he went to his own room to rest.

The problem of what to do with Izuna would have to wait for another day. He’d pushed himself too far as it was. He was asleep before he hit the pillow. 

-

Tobirama didn’t know how long he’d slept, but the shadows on the wall across from him implied it was late afternoon. His head felt like it was splitting, and his whole body hurt, broken in ways he couldn’t remember outside of his training sessions with his father, but he ignored it and hauled himself up regardless. Walking the four feet across the landing, he opened the door to his guest room. Izuna laid exactly where Tobirama had left him. 

Crossing his aching arms, he leaned against the doorway, and contemplated what to do.

There appeared to be no change. Tobirama’s sensing showed that the other man’s chakra was dormant, save for the miniscule amount that powered his still beating heart. It looked like a dormouse’s in brightness rather than the raging inferno Izuna usually let off. But he was breathing, and his complexion, still holding its Uchiha paleness, was nonetheless much improved.

Still, he hadn’t woken. Tobirama didn’t know if that was normal or not.

He weighed his options, and decided that more information was necessary. Kneeling by Izuna, he bought his hands to the quiet chest and forced them to glow a faint, diagnostic green. 

Nervous system felt normal. Neurons were flowing, blitzing along. Izuna’s wounds, both to the abdomen and the incision in his chest, were both holding their reconstructions well. There was hunger, understandable as the glucose and nutrient levels were beginning to drop after hours of no food. Nothing wrong with the musculature, organs, everything looked sound. Save for the chakra pathways. Excepting the flickering at center mass, the chakra coils laid worryingly dormant. 

That, and that he wouldn’t wake.

Tobirama pulled his hands away. He did as usual and thought over the problem. He always tried to lean away from theology when engaging in scientific thought, but the monks said that chakra was tied to the soul. Not only in an actionable way, for certainly the ability to access and mould chakra required training, but that chakra was, at its core, a life force. What that meant in reality was less clear, even to Tobirama, who could rightly consider himself an expert. 

So much of chakra usage was will based. There were foundational building blocks, unchanging, such as the ways chakra could be molded and manipulated through stringing together hand seals and paper ones, which eased the casting of jutsus by formatting precise amounts of chakra through already pre established patterns for a pre established result, but Tobirama had seen shinobi who should be lacking the skill or aptitude to perform high level jutsus through brute force instead. 

The reality of what exactly chakra was, what it could and could not do, was a mystery that would likely prove unsolvable in Tobirama’s lifetime. 

But the question of Izuna’s dormant coils remained, and seemed to be purely physiological rather than theoretical. Were chakra coils tied to the nervous system or did it function independently? Tobirama tapped Izuna’s chest, monitoring closely. The neurons sent a signal to the brain, registering the sensasion, but the chakra center didn’t react. Unlikely then that the two were linked, but Tobirama was not ready to call one test a firm result. 

It was not currently relevant to reach an understanding of the intricacy of the human body when it clearly wouldn’t bring about his desired outcome: waking Izuna. He decided and moved on. 

First, he examined the evidence, and what he knew. He had forced immense amounts of chakra into Izuna’s system yesterday. Was what he felt in Izuna just an echo of his own chakra that still lingered? It didn’t feel like it, burned like fire rather than crashed with the tides. But, perhaps Izuna’s system had captured and converted it with the absorption? Tobirama had never heard of anything like that but he couldn’t rule it out as a possibility. 

Studying Izuna’s face, Tobirama scowled at the lack of change.

He had hoped not to confront his brother about his… captive until the other man was conscious. As it was, Hashirama would likely not react well. 

How could he explain his possession of another body, halfway between living and dead? Particularly after his brother vehemence that he halt all experimentation with _Edo Tensai_. If only Izuna would wake, Tobirama would be in a much better position to explain. 

Keeping it from his brother felt more and more disloyal with every passing second, but Hashirama’s judgement was always swift where Tobirama was concerned. 

Would it be better to wait? Or would it only do more damage?

Tobirama could, as always, feel his brother. Considering how long he had spent as a presence in the back of Tobirama’s mind, it was no surprise then that Tobirama could make out his brother’s mood even at this distance. 

Hashirama was no more pleased than when Tobirama had left him the day before.

Sighing, determined to set aside his brothers displeasure the way he always did, Tobirama stood. Regardless of what he decided, he could at least solve the glucose problem. 

Retreating to his own room, he looked through the bag he had brought to the battle the day before and pulled out a sealing scroll. Releasing it, he withdrew an impressive first aid kit. It was more like a trunk then a small field kit, full of anything and everything he might need to set up a triage on the battlefield (as he had done in the past and been wanting for proper supplies), including an intravenous kit and stand, which he took back to his room. 

Sterilizing his hands with a quick jutsu, he turned Izuna’s arm to expose the veins of his inner elbow, bright blue against the pale skin. After tying a tourniquet to help dilate the veins by adding pressure, he didn’t let himself pause as he pushed in the sterile needle. He was disheartened when Izuna still showed no movement even on the reception of pain. 

Tapping down the needle to prevent it from slipping out of the vein, he raised the bag and hung it on the collapsible metal tripod stand. That should take care of both nourishing the Uchiha and providing hydration for at least the next few hours. 

Vaguely, he realized that the room still felt stale. He stood and crossed to the window, and slid it open to allow in the breeze before turning back to Izuna.

Nothing. No change.

He scowled, but decided to wait.

Tomorrow, if Izuna didn’t wake, he would go to Hashirama and tell him. 

-

The next morning, there was no change in his patient. 

Apart from the urine soaking his bed and the empty IV bag.

With a sigh, frustrated at his oversight, Tobirama unhooked the IV drop from the port to  
drag Izuna to his bathroom to wash off the urine and sweat. 

He wondered how the medics dealt with this, because Tobirama found it impossible not to become soaked as he tried to ensure that Izuna was properly cleaned with water and soap. He took the opportunity to examine Izuna’s wounds, pleased to see that the surface skin matched the healed tissue beneath, whatever had remained of the wounds had disappeared completely. 

He put Izuna into one of his own spare under-uniforms, placing what Izuna had been wearing in his laundry pile. He hadn’t noticed when healing the Uchiha that he’d been without his armor, clad in something not dissimilar to what Tobirama had on hand for him. They were even of a similar size.

Satisfied that his patient was hygienic, he took the Uchiha back to his room. He laid the man on the spare futon that Tobirama had used for the moment while he threw the soiled linen into his washing machine. 

He wished suddenly that he’d had time to finish his experiments with henges that had physical mass. This would be far easier with another set of hands. 

After connecting a fresh IV bag, and setting up a catheter so he didn’t have to clean up his rivals piss ever again, Tobirama stood over Izuna’s unresponsive body and scowled. Typical for the Uchiha to find a way to annoy him when he wasn’t even conscious.

Sighing, he returned to his own room and dressed for the day. He thought about wearing his armor, felt like he could use the familiarity of it, but decided against it. It wouldn’t help him with his brother regardless. He did let himself slip on his happuri. Leaving it would have left him more… exposed than necessary.

Then he felt his head turn towards the main house. There was a sudden flurry of activity, Hashirama moving from breakfast to his office rapidly, Suzaku and Mitari, two clansmen who served as his secretaries flying from the house. Suzaku was heading towards Touka’s home at a dead run, and Mitari was heading towards his own at the same break neck speed.

Something had happened. Uchiha retaliation? Had they slipped past his senses while he’d been preoccupied with Izuna? 

Tobirama grabbed his sword from where it rested on the wall and met the man before he could make it to the door. 

“What’s happened?” he asked.

Mitari was out of breath as he answered, “Hashirama-sama has summoned you.”

He gave no further explanation. Likely, he didn’t know anymore. It didn’t matter anyways. Tobirama’s speed was, in a word, impressive, and he reached the main house in seconds, Touka only moments behind him.

Hashirama met them at the door, still holding the message that had prompted their rushed summons. Before he could even ask, Hashirama announced, “Madara has agreed to a cease-fire. We are to meet the Uchiha contingent at dawn. Ready our shinobi!” 

Touka nodded. “Right away, Hashirama-sama.”

“Tobirama,” said his brother before Tobirama could go to prepare himself. “You will do nothing that will jeopardize this peace, am I understood?”

Tobirama met his brother’s eyes, saw the anger there that he could feel in his brother’s emotions and nodded. 

“Madara will not lightly forgive you for injuring Izuna. Don’t push him. Understood?”

Tobirama nodded once more, feeling cold. 

“Then go.” 

Tobirama body-flickered back to his home. 

It took almost no time to dress once more for war. 

As he left, he spared a moment to think on his patient and hesitated. What should he do about Izuna? 

In their final fight, it was Izuna who had stopped Madara from accepting peace between the Senju and the Uchiha. Tobirama had seen how close Madara had come to stepping forward, to accepting his Anija’s offer for a cessation of all violence. Izuna was unable to look beyond the dead on the battlefield for a future of peace. 

And Madara had listened to him. 

So, he should kill the Uchiha and have done with it. If Izuna stood between the Senju and the Uchiha coming to peace, then he should be removed.

But wasn’t he removed as he was, lying comatose in Tobirama’s bed? 

As a shinobi, there was little that Tobirama would not do for the sake of a mission. He’d killed hundreds both on the battlefield and off it, but this was different. The thought of slaying Izuna while the man was defenseless in his own bed churned uneasily in Tobirama’s gut. Especially after he’d gone to such lengths to keep the Uchiha alive. 

Still, there was a risk of keeping him on Senju lands. If Madara caught wind of it, he would undoubtedly lay siege to the Senju compound in order to get him back. 

And that would be the end of any chance of peace. 

In some ways, Hashirama was right. The war with the Uchiha had been… halfhearted, at least where the clan head was concerned. Tobirama had never seen Madara’s true strength, doubted anyone ever had. If he brought his full strength down on them…

They would meet him in the field. They had no choice.

Tobirama would have to decide what to do with Izuna later.

-

Later, he had Madara under his sword. Thought about the brother lying in his home, about the brothers he’d buried and realized that this was it. They could end it here.

But Hashirama would not have it so, would rather sacrifice his own life than see Madara dead, then see their family safe. 

Tobirama didn’t understand, couldn’t, but then, he hadn’t been born and raised to _understand_. Not the decisions of his father, decisions that had killed his little brothers, put them both in the ground. Not the decisions of his brother. It wasn’t his place to question the will of his elder brother, who would rather bend to an enemy’s demand than Tobirama’s logic. No. His place was to question once, advise, and then obey. 

He knew his duty. Especially as his brother proved wise. The Uchiha were defecting, surrendering. Even if Madara went back on his word, without Izuna, they would not long be able to resist. Peace was finally achieved, although clearly not in the way his Anija had wanted. Even if they had months of peace talks ahead of them, treaties to be written and signed, a hundred years worth of dead to bury with paperwork and promises to forgive and forget, to leave vengeance to the dead, even with all of that still sounding both inevitable and impossible, Hashirama, it was clear now, would drag peace down from the stars themselves if need be.

Even if it cost them all. Dearly. It was a risk Hashirama was willing to take, and so the Senju were bound to follow. 

To their death if need be.

But what of Izuna?

Uchiha Izuna, who had never, _would_ never, under any circumstances, agree to peace. What should Tobirama do with him?

Hours later, as stood over Izuna Uchiha’s silent, unsuspecting body with a kunai in hand, he clearly saw the path before him. He should just kill the other man. 

Tobirama remembered the last word he had heard Izuna say, begging his brother to never trust the Senju. So soon after the younger man, Tobirama’s equal, was removed from the equation, peace had been achieved. Was he the obstacle between Madara’s dream, ever wary of their enemy as Tobirama had so often been the staying hand for Hashirama? Was Izuna responsible for dragging out the war through the years after Madara’s accession as clan head? 

Would the Uchiha Clan change their minds again if he was returned to them, become as intransigent as before?

If so, could he, Tobirama, fist of the Senju, in good conscious let him live? 

More, if Izuna survived, and the war restarted as a result of his survival, any subsequent Senju deaths were on Tobirama’s hands. Could he live with himself in that case? 

It was the same question that drove him into Izuna’s path time and time again on the battlefield. This knowledge that if he didn’t stand between Izuna and his clan that those who died did so because of Tobirama’s inaction, had forced him to the battlefield injured and exhausted more times than he could count. It was a necessary evil of being the rival of an otherwise peerless shinobi. 

To that end, he could not regret striking Izuna down on that battlefield the moment the opportunity had presented itself. 

He had been right to strike him down. Hashirama’s ire regardless. Tobirama could live with it, could do what was necessary. His brother already forever found fault in him, in his ruthlessness. Surely if there was ever a time to live up to that reputation, it was now.

But staring at the man, helpless and prone in his bed, Tobirama couldn’t do it.

They were shinobi. They were not samurai or civilians with the luxury of honor. Shinobi did what was required. They killed without question.

Why was he hesitating? The weapon was in his hand. It would take no more effort to kill his defenseless foe than breathing. It was necessary. Logic demanded it.

Because defenseless or not, Izuna was dangerous. His very survival was dangerous. Tobirama should have let him die. Should just _kill him_. No one would ever know the difference. 

But he couldn’t do it. 

He had laid his hands on this man, healed him, brought him into his home. Tobirama might be a shinobi, but he had never thought himself a bad person. Surely Hashirama, so blindingly good he was an unreachable idea for most of them, looked at Tobirama and found him morally lacking. Maybe he even had good reason for it, but Tobirama had held onto his identity as an honorable man. His honor was his own to look after. It was what drove him to protect his family, his stuipd self-sacrificing idiot of a brother. He did what was necessary. 

But could he be a murderer?

And this would be murder. Plain and simple. Killing a guest in his home, one he had fed and cared for...

He couldn’t do it.

He wanted to scream in frustration. His hand squeezed the kunai’s handle so hard he thought it would bend. He flung the weapon away in fury. It buried itself to the hilt in the door frame with a loud _thunk_. Taking a deep breath, he stormed out of the room. 

Down the stairs of his small, empty house, through the barren kitchen, into his living room. 

In the corner was the shrine he had set up for Kawarama and Itama. The incense he had lit that morning had burned down entirely, leaving to ashen, half crumbled remains, hollowed sticks just tall enough to seem like shadowed cracks across the picture behind them. Pictures of his brothers.

He remembered once, just after Kawarama died, Itama asked him about vengeance. If the living had a duty to the dead to kill for them and bring them peace, but Tobirama was always a philosopher, ancient wise men and emperors guided his steps. Reality was perception. Death was the lack of perception. The dead did not care one way or another. 

They were dead.

Still, as Tobirama knelt before their shrine, and picked up the picture on it, he wondered if he was betraying them as well. 

And then a different thought struck him.

From the moment he had saved Izuna, he had intended to tell Hashirama everything, but…

Resurrection had been a failure as long as he could remember. He had tried, but…

What if Izuna could hold the key?

If Tobirama had actually succeeded, had brought him back from the brink, then perhaps whatever success had caused that was the key to future, more vital successes? He was no good to Tobirama now, comatose as he was, but later, if he could wake him, could he convince (or perhaps, more likely, force) Izuna to tell him what he had seen? Tell him what he had perceived? What had _worked_?

It could be the break Tobirama had waited for for years. He looked at the faces in the picture in his hand. It could mean bringing _them-_

“_Necromancy!_”

… It could be worth it. Just to see them again. Just for a moment.

Hashirama would stop him. Tobirama should stop himself, but what if this was his only chance?

He put the picture back on the shrine and went back upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends!
> 
> Welcome to my obsession for the last few months. First, props to @peppymint's fic "Devil's Breath" for this idea, and also the other fic by @Writingfish (idraax) called "Tobirama aus: Problematic snippet collection" that was also inspired by the wonderful peppymint. Oh, and also the amazing @blackkat, from whom almost all of my love for these characters flow. 
> 
> Second, the ever amazing @Kat1132 is the best cheerleader/beta ever and I owe her my first born child. 
> 
> So, I have been slowly working on this and have it about half done, but those parts are scattered, so updates might be a bit random with if/when they get posted. I have an amazingly short attention span, but I promise I really do plan to have it finished in the next two months or so. Please, please, please leave a note if you like it, because comments give me life, or just a little tap on the kudos button for my undying devotion.
> 
> As always, all my love,  
-Moth


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Izuna awoke, it was to nothing but silent darkness. 

_If this is the afterlife_, he’d thought, too exhausted to be afraid, _I want a refund_, before falling back into the black.__

_ __ _

-

_ __ _

Thankfully, Tobirama was uninvited from the actual peace talks. It was thought, by both Hashirama and himself, that his presence would cause undue friction. Rather, Tobirama would stay behind and take over Hashirama’s duties in the compound. Neither of them were sure how long the talks would take, and sending both of them would have left the homefront unacceptably undefended. He, and the half of the council that would not be attending either, would be kept up to date with regular reports via Elder Tatsura’s woodpecker summons, who had graciously agreed to work as their go between, likely because Tatsura hadn’t had cause to summon them for years. 

_ __ _

The Elders had made it clear that they were not sold on even the notion of peace, much less the practicalities of it. But for all that Hashirama was a benevolent leader, the rule of the Senju was not Uzu’s famous democracy, but a dictatorship. Hashirama was the law, and they would follow where he led. 

_ __ _

Perhaps, whether they liked it or not, as each new letter from Hashirama that brought new complications, and more protests during clan council meetings that Tobirama had to sit through.

_ __ _

“My brother is determined that this peace will succeed. He will not return until it has.”

_ __ _

“Surely, you can see by now that this is a futile effort! We should just conquer the Uchiha by force!” Elder Noriko nearly shouted from her seat, and paused for her supporters to vocally second her opinion, before continuing, “They no longer have the ability to withstand us.”

_ __ _

It was the same argument that she, and Elder Omura, and Elder Mutsuhito had been making since Hashirama left. 

_ __ _

Tobirama could admit that he wasn’t even really paying attention anymore. It was the same song, same verse, over and over, one that Hashirama had already firmly put down. And he was quickly losing patience for it.

_ __ _

He would much rather be at home. His _kage bunshin_ technique was coming along. It only needed a few more adjustments before he thought it might work. Then he would have a solid clone of himself to watch over and monitor his… patient while he dealt with this nonsense. Again.

_ __ _

“That is not the way to form a lasting peace, and it is not in line with Hashirama’s vision.”

_ __ _

“But Tobirama, nephew, you must know that the Uchiha will never keep to their word!” 

_ __ _

Omura this time. Huh. That was usually Mutsuhito’s line. They had swapped scripts today. _Lovely._

_ __ _

“As I have said before, Hashirama is convinced that the very reasons you have for believing they would be easily conquered will likewise hold them to their word," Tobirama replied, quite reasonably he thought.

_ __ _

"The Uchiha are not asking the unreasonable. The lands beyond the Azu River tributary were theirs for a hundred years before we took them a decade ago. They have a right to have them back," said Takeshi, one of the most reasonable council members.

_ __ _

"And to our shinobi who died for that gain? Is this how we should repay their sacrifice?"

_ __ _

“Hashirama has given them everything they have asked for-”

_ __ _

The conversation dissolved from there, the fracture lines clear. Tobirama, on the council chamber's dais, in his brother's seat, felt his already fraying patience leaving him entirely. 

_ __ _

He hadn't slept the night before, too busy, too full of ideas to rest. 

_ __ _

The _bunshin_ still wasn't stabilizing properly. Every contact disrupted it, its chakra construction not holding past the gentlest disturbance. More chakra made the problem worse rather than better. He might try adding more mass to the form, condensing actual matter around the hollow frame…

_ __ _

"Tobirama, surely you of all people must see reason!?"

_ __ _

His eyes snapped to Elder Omura. 

_ __ _

_You of all people_?

_ __ _

Usually, he refrained from letting the full force of his attention fall on others. He was well aware how unsettling most found it. But enough was enough. 

_ __ _

Omura wilted under his carmine gaze.

_ __ _

“Hashirama is our clan head and my elder brother. He will always have my unwavering support.”

_ __ _

Silence echoed around the crowded room. 

_ __ _

But Noriko had the strongest spine of any of them, and was unafraid to stand forward again.

_ __ _

“Your loyalty is inspiring, Tobirama-sama. However, our concerns are legitimate, and should be raised with your brother.”

_ __ _

Very carefully, Tobirama didn’t sigh. He had _already_ raised their concerns in his last missive. And the one before. And the one before that.

_ __ _

“I assure you, Hashirama is fully aware of the council’s opinion on his negotiating strategy.”

_ __ _

She smiled, her wrinkled, kindly face belying the viciousness Tobirama knew it hid, and he knew she would not be satisfied until he conceded. Again. 

_ __ _

“I cannot believe that Hashirama would so ignore the concerns of his honored elders once being made fully aware of them,” she said.

_ __ _

Tobirama wanted to sigh. Wanted to roll his eyes at such blatant obtuseness. Noriko was no fool, not really, but she was a canny old bat who had far more patience (and experience) at playing with people and their words than Tobirama did. 

_ __ _

He just didn’t understand the games people played with one another. He understood the how of it, the subtle manipulation and wordplay involved; he just didn’t understand the _why_. The lying in it, the deceit, broken treaties and endless greed. For what? The illusion of power, the satisfaction of gaining the upper hand? It was all transient anyways. No power could be taken passed the grave, and yet people like Noriko and Omura and Mutsuhito had dedicated their lives to continuing a conflict that had done nothing but put countless members of their family into the ground before their time. 

_ __ _

It was not something he would solve today, and wasn’t something he had the _authority_ to change. 

_ __ _

Instead, all he could do was his duty. 

_ __ _

“Very well, Aunt Noriko. I will send along your concerns over the concessions.”

_ __ _

“Today?” she pressed.

_ __ _

It was only years of practice that stopped him from scowling. Instead, he kept his face blank and nodded. 

_ __ _

Smiling even wider, stretching her lips so thin they nearly disappeared, Noriko went to open yet another piece of business, but Tobirama had had enough for one day. 

_ __ _

He stood, and said, “We will reconvene tomorrow morning,” in a tone that booked no arguments. These meetings took enough out of him as it was. 

_ __ _

He left before anyone protested.

_ __ _

Halfway down the hall, his favorite cousin Touka was waiting, well within hearing range of the council chamber, her _naginata_ resting beside her. She fell in behind him, her face blank, and followed him outside.

_ __ _

“That went well,” she said, sarcasm dripping. 

_ __ _

Tobirama exhaled, and tried to let the lingering frustration leave him. He was annoyingly unsuccessful. 

_ __ _

“You know,” said Touka when it was clear he wasn’t going to answer, “Regardless of the Elders, most of the fighting shinobi are with Hashirama.”

_ __ _

“I know.”

_ __ _

And, in theory, so was Tobirama. The Senju were in the superior negotiating position, that much hadn’t changed. That the Uchiha would break whatever treaty came from the peace talks was a negligible concern. For now anyways. The future… well, that was a problem for the future. 

_ __ _

For now though, as far as the people actually involved in the fighting, it had been mostly split between those who agreed with Hashirama’s constant overtures for peace, and those who were either indifferent to the continuing conflict, or worse, enjoyed it. After Hashirama and Madara’s more than impressive display, the moderates had been swayed behind Hashirama.

_ __ _

Tobirama didn’t know if it was the actual fight that had moved them, or that Hashirama was so willing to die for his dream, but one way or another, those in their family that insisted on continuing the war against an already defeated enemy had found themselves in the minority.

_ __ _

That minority was not echoed in the Council of Elders. There, the old and entrenched could only look at the mountain of dead family behind them and see no way forward but vengeance. 

_ __ _

In some ways, Tobirama could understand. Among the Uchiha were the men who had murdered his brothers. It was war, and Tobirama was a rational man, but there were some things even he would never have been able to do. Like hunting down and slaughtering children. To think that some of those men might be at the peace talks, partaking in his brothers mercy…

_ __ _

Tobirama swallowed and breathed deep, remembered the monks’ proverb “every man is a river,” and tried to see past his rage. Time and circumstance were not constant. The only way was forward.

_ __ _

But it was hard. And Tobirama understood that in a way Hashirama didn’t seem to. The Senju burial grounds were full of unavenged dead. To just let them go...

_ __ _

“Hey,” said Touka as she nudged her armored shoulder against his. They clacked, jarring, and it pulled him out of his thoughts. 

_ __ _

His teeth unclenched even if his heart didn’t. It never did.

_ __ _

“I can hear you brooding over there silent,” she said, and Tobirama could didn’t call her on the irrationality of her statement, “Come on. You owe me a spar.”

_ __ _

Tobirama frowned. 

_ __ _

He didn’t want to spar. All he wanted to do was go home and figure out how to complete his new cloning jutsu, finish tabulating the armory’s expense reports, looking over the taxed mission and tax incomes, check in with the healers about the effectiveness of the new monitoring systems he’d had brought from the Yotsuki clan, come to and issue his official judgement on Morinoka’s complaint against Ugou, and compose a new response to Hashirama’s updates. And maybe get some food soon. He thought he might be hungry.

_ __ _

“I’m busy,” was all he said. 

_ __ _

In some ways, he knew it was futile

_ __ _

As he thought, Touka just rolled her eyes at his protests. She wrapped her arm around his neck and hauled him away. 

_ __ _

“You’re not getting out of it that easily. You need to blow off some steam before you explode.”

_ __ _

In reality, he probably could have gotten out of it. 

_ __ _

Touka was his best friend. She had been there, partnered with him on mission after mission as he’d lost both of his brothers. It was him she trusted to get roaring drunk with after her sister had died, him who held her hair back after the Uchiha witch’s genjutsu had left her shaking.

_ __ _

He’d always had Touka to lean on. She always knew when he needed quiet or a kick in the ass and was more than capable of providing either. 

_ __ _

They’d be lost without each other. 

_ __ _

She would understand if he vehemently declined. She still had her arm around him. He could _make_ her let go, but it would take significantly more effort than just agreeing, and would likely devolve into the spar she wanted anyways.

_ __ _

Besides, she was, annoyingly, always right about these things, better at finding Tobirama’s limits than he himself was most days. He might be more productive after burning off some of the stress under his skin.

_ __ _

Lastly, she was easily the only person who was comfortable enough to be… affectionate with him. Friendly. With an easy physicality. He couldn’t remember the last time someone not her had tried to put him in a headlock, or put their arms around him at all. Maybe Hashirama, but even he was hesitant, which was probably a good thing, if Tobirama was honest. He wasn’t sure he’d know how to react to his brother’s affection. 

_ __ _

He did with Touka though. 

_ __ _

He sighed, rolled his eyes, and acquiesced with a nod. She grinned, and let him go with a shove. 

_ __ _

They made their way to the Senju training ground, wide open fields interspersed with felled trees and the giant pines Hashirama’s _mokuton_ sprouted like weeds, and squared off, his sword drawn to her _naginata_. 

_ __ _

With a silent nod from him and a smirk from her, they began, a blur and a gust of wind all that was left of where they had been. 

_ __ _

Touka was good. Her forms were solid, grounded, matching the _doton_ jutsus she called with a few handseals and the flick of her feet. They cancelled out his _suiton_ jutsus, her longer reach keeping his superior speed at bay best she could.

_ __ _

They weren’t well matched, not really. Tobirama could run circles around her on a good day, could press harder, faster, for longer, but Touka was good enough to keep him from getting complacent even after all of these years. He had been sparring with her for most of his life, and she was still smart enough, quick enough to surprise him.

_ __ _

In a real fight, he would kill her. Not hurting her at all while she was going all out was something else entirely. He had to focus, and for the first time in almost a month, his mind finally, _finally_, went quiet. 

_ __ _

After they’d gone toe to toe for nearly an hour, a panting Touka called a halt. 

_ __ _

She was right. He did feel better, for all that he was bruised and breathing hard.

_ __ _

But he also needed to go home and check on Izuna.

_ __ _

For a moment, as he watched her stretch next to him, he thought about telling her about the Uchiha. Thought for just one moment that maybe he could, that she might not interfere. It was more tempting than he wanted it to be. 

_ __ _

He wouldn’t do that to her. Make her choose between her loyalty to Hashirama and to him. It would be… wrong. And he wasn’t sure where she would fall if he did. He wanted to be, but in his experience, nothing was certain.

_ __ _

“You know, regardless of what happens with the Elders and Hashirama, I’ll support you.”

_ __ _

It was almost as if she read his thoughts. 

_ __ _

He tilted her head at her, not sure what she was referring to exactly: his thoughts or… what were they talking about? 

_ __ _

She huffed a sigh, and swapped which leg she was bent over to stretch her other hamstring. “Hashirama thinks he can just bully them into peace, but they won’t go quietly.”

_ __ _

_Clearly_, Tobriama thought, but Touka continued.

_ __ _

“They’ll look to you instead.”

_ __ _

“That’s stupid,” said Tobirama, stretching his arms above his head.

_ __ _

Huffing, if he’d been in range, she probably would’ve tried to kick him again, she said, “They don’t know you like I do. They only see you as Hashirama’s heir and a faithful sword of the clan. Until he has a child, you’re next to replace him. If they want to oppose Hashirama’s leadership, it would have to be with you.”

_ __ _

“Oppose his leadership? Why would I do that?”

_ __ _

Here, she rolled her eyes again. 

_ __ _

“Because they don’t think you want peace. And if Hashirama were to be replaced...”

_ __ _

Tobirama felt his heart ice over. 

_ __ _

“You mean killed,” he said.

_ __ _

“Calm down,” she said, levelling him with a look. “This conversation is only in the hypothetical. If they were planning a coup, I would be the last to know. But you should be aware of the possibility. You’re next in line, and you agree with them on principle.”

_ __ _

He wasn’t sure about that, but he was certain, “I would never betray Hashirama.”

_ __ _

He wouldn’t. Well, more so than he already was, with the not-dead Uchiha in his care, but this was something on an entirely different level. This left him paralyzed. In what universe would the Elders look to a younger son to usurp the elder? Surely, it would be a direct challenge to their own authority to even entertain the thought. 

_ __ _

And he loved his brother.

_ __ _

“But you don’t want the peace,” Touka said, as if it was a fact. As if it was something she knew.

_ __ _

It wasn’t even something Tobirama knew. Not really. It was not that he didn’t want it, just that he couldn’t picture it. He had been a soldier his whole life. Had known nothing but war, as had his father before him. Anything else seemed impossible, a naive flight of fancy that could be nothing more than a dangerous distraction.

_ __ _

But he remembered his brothers. Remembered watching them grow, knowing they likely wouldn’t make it to have children of their own, and ached. Maybe, he thought, maybe, if it was at all even slightly possible that children like them could grow up in peace… that might be worth it, worth anything, no matter how unlikely that possibility seemed.

_ __ _

Worth dying for. His brother was right, as always. If Hashirama was willing to die for peace, then so too was Tobirama. It was only death, after all. 

_ __ _

He had made his decision. 

_ __ _

“That is incorrect,” he said after a moment, thoughts coming back around to the statement she’d made.

_ __ _

At least this way, maybe Kawarama and Itama might not have died for nothing. 

_ __ _

Touka looked up. Looked him dead in the eyes, judging his sincerity. She held his gaze for a moment, sat up from her stretches, and gave him her full attention. 

_ __ _

Then she grinned, her blood painted lips parting in genuine relief. 

_ __ _

“Good,” was all she said, and she went back to stretching. 

_ __ _

When she was finished, after badgering him into finishing properly as well, she walked him home.

_ __ _

(Tobirama was grateful for the warding seals he had put up around Izuna’s room. They left the Uchiha invisible to the best sensors, even to Touka, even to him.)

_ __ _

She hugged him before she let him leave her.

_ __ _

“I am proud of you, you know?”

_ __ _

He didn’t, and didn’t know why she would be now, but recognized that this was likely one of those things he wouldn’t understand even if she told him. Instead, he just nodded.

_ __ _

“See you tomorrow, cousin,” said Touka, and then she left.

_ __ _

Tobirama watched her go, feeling something in his chest ease with the surety of her gate. She didn’t look back. After a moment, Tobirama slipped into his home. 

_ __ _

He had a lot of work to do. 

_ __ _

-

_ __ _

The next time Izuna woke was both better and so, so much worse.

_ __ _

His eyes wouldn’t open. He could feel the sun on his face, a quiet pain and pressure in the crook of his elbow, and his heart pound. It felt like it would burst out of chest.

_ __ _

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see anything. Just dragging air into his lungs was difficult. They wouldn’t cooperate, struggling against him as he tried to haul in air to match his racing heart. It- he couldn’t- _he couldn’t move_. 

_ __ _

The terror swamped him. Izuna had been in a hundred battles, lived under constant threat to his life, but this was so much worse than death should have been.

_ __ _

He wanted his brother. He wanted his _mom_.

_ __ _

Somewhere to his left, a door opened.

_ __ _

He tried to slow his racing heart, tried to hide that he was conscious. Holding his breath was instinct. 

_ __ _

He couldn’t even flinch when a hand took his wrist. The panic nearly drowned him once more.

_ __ _

“Hmm,” a familiar voice above him. He couldn’t place it, could barely hear it over the roar of his blood racing in his ears.

_ __ _

The person didn’t do anything but take his pulse. 

_ __ _

“Uchiha?” they asked.

_ __ _

He tried to answer. Tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn’t move. 

_ __ _

“Easy, Uchiha, calm down, you’re in no danger.”

_ __ _

The speaker was probably trying to be reassuring, but he sounded so damn hesitant that it failed miserably. 

_ __ _

Izuna felt his anger rise. Tried to call his chakra, wanted to explode fire from every pore, but it would not answer. He couldn’t even feel a whisper of it. Nothing.

_ __ _

“Izuna. You need to calm down. Your heart rate’s elevation is becoming dangerous.”

_ __ _

No shit. It felt like it was going to explode.

_ __ _

“... It’s the fourth day in May, in the twelfth year of the reign of Daimyo Matsudaira.”

_ __ _

_What_? That was weeks away.

_ __ _

“It’s twenty degrees celsius outside, but the clouds indicate the pressure will drop in the next few hours with a high chance of rain. Your heart rate is peaking at almost one hundred sixty beats per minute. You need to calm down or risk tachycardia. Easy breaths. You are in no danger here.”

_ __ _

He tried. Honestly, but the panic was just there. Nothing was working.

_ __ _

But the voice didn’t stop. The surface he was laying on felt soft beneath him and did nothing to help him identify where the hell he was. 

_ __ _

He must be on a futon?

_ __ _

His side didn’t hurt. _It should_. His insides should be spilling onto the bed next to him.

_ __ _

All he could remember was the burning.

_ __ _

The voice kept talking. 

_ __ _

“The original trauma to your abdomen is fully healed, with as much tissue regeneration as I could manage. The scarring is minimum. You leukocyte count has been holding steady at an average of 6.2 x 109 cells per liter, well within average range.”

_ __ _

Izuna didn’t know what that meant.

_ __ _

The voice kept talking. Izuna didn’t understand what was happening, but he nearly stopped breathing entirely when the hand holding his wrist dropped it. He didn’t know-

_ __ _

But the hand didn’t go far, came to rest on his chest. It hummed, buzzed slightly on his skin and foreign chakra filled his system, cool like water over a burn, soothing as it rushed from his head to his fingertips to his toes, quieting, _looking_-

_ __ _

He couldn’t move. At all. And he was exhausted. It warred with the panic and swirled like a hurricane within him, but eventually, the exhaustion won, and drug him, kicking and screaming within his own mind, down back into darkness

_ __ _

The voice never stopped talking to him. 

_ __ _

-

_ __ _

Tobirama surveyed the patient under his palm. Beyond the racing heart and quickened chest, there was no measurable sign of consciousness. The eyes beneath closed lids didn’t so much as twitch even as Izuna’s pulse and breathing leveled out.

_ __ _

What had caused such a spike? Was it a non-voluntary physical reaction to neural stimulation? Pain, perhaps? Tobirama’s brow furrowed as he spread more of his chakra through Izuna’s system and felt for anything that could be causing the other man pain.

_ __ _

Nothing. His repairs were holding, nothing out of place beyond the absence of the Uchiha’s chakra. All that Tobirama could feel of the usual inferno that was Izuna’s chakra was the same stuttering ember around his chest that had been there since Tobirama had revived him. Nothing else. His levels weren’t recovering.

_ __ _

Nothing had changed.

_ __ _

Except…

_ __ _

Tobirama could have sworn he had felt something, a hint, quiet, nearly non-existent, of… fear maybe? It was so subtle he wasn’t sure.

_ __ _

He had long suspected that his sensor abilities, beyond being grating in how sensitive they were, had granted him a modicum of empathic abilities. He had no evidence, really, no baseline to measure from but his own experience. But sometimes, he could feel when Hashirama was excited, Touka annoyed, read the disgust of the Elders or the distrust of civilians who saw him as nothing but the monster he was on the battlefield. 

_ __ _

He’d been nearly overwhelmed by Kawarama’s _fear_, broken bone’s too small and frail for all the death around them, rattling with every blood-flooded gasp as the other boy, a boy he’d practically raised and _loved_ died in his arms, Tobirama mere seconds too late to save him. 

_ __ _

Even years later, he wasn’t sure if that fear had been Kawarama’s or his own.

_ __ _

It was the same here. 

_ __ _

Was he really feeling anything from Izuna, or was he just empathizing with what he thought he might have felt in his place?

_ __ _

Tobirama was a scientist. He tried, always, to be objective and knew, intimately, the dangers of wanting any result too much. 

_ __ _

Had he really felt something off Izuna, or was it wishful thinking?

_ __ _

He stared down at the silent figure, measuring, and tried to feel _anything_ from him, but there was nothing. Whatever fleeting sensation was gone, regardless.

_ __ _

Scowling, he reigned back in his chakra, the green fading back into his palm.

_ __ _

He didn’t have time for this flight of fancy. He had more than enough work to do. 

_ __ _

If he could figure out his shadow clones, he could double his productivity. 

_ __ _

Already lost in thought, he wandered over to the desk pushed up against the other wall. He’d brought it in here two weeks ago, when he was loath to leave Izuna unattended for any amount of time beyond what was absolutely necessary. 

_ __ _

So, now he did most of his work in here, the guest room he had scoffed at Hashirama for including when he sprouted this house for Tobirama when he’d moved out of the main house. He didn’t have guests. Hadn’t since the house was built. 

_ __ _

Until now, he supposed, sitting at the desk. It was as neat as he could keep it with so many open projects. His notes on the shadow clones sat open in front of him.

_ __ _

He got to work.

_ __ _

Then paused for a moment, and glanced back at the bed. Izuna hadn’t moved. Of course not, but…

_ __ _

The feeling of panic that had just barely twinged the air had subsided when Tobirama began to speak. Not that he’d had much to say. 

_ __ _

Still. He couldn’t be sure if the response had been genuine, if the gleaned feeling had even existed, but neither could he preclude the possibility that it had. If Izuna was conscious. If he was trapped in his body, unable to move, it was perhaps the worst possible scenario. Isolation could have serious psychological repercussions that could sway the results of any test he might run.

_ __ _

And Tobirama had many tests he needed to run to find out the root cause of the Uchiha’s dilemma, some of which would be painful. If Izuna was conscious, could feel what was happening in his body, but was unable to consent, and worse, couldn’t express the pain he was feeling...

_ __ _

Tobirama grimaced. 

_ __ _

He tried very hard not to give into the inclination towards cruelty he had inherited from his father. There were certain unavoidable realities of the shinobi life. All too often, Tobirama found himself an inevitable agent of that unavoidable reality, a deadly sword for those whose luck had run out. But he tried to not cause more pain than was absolutely necessary. Tried to keep his kills clean, his deaths swift.

_ __ _

(Unlike the men who’d killed Itama. They had seemingly taken great pleasure in cutting Tobirama’s brother to pieces.)

_ __ _

He had failed with Izuna. The Uchiha was just too fast. Even with the hiraishin, nearly instantaneous transportation, his rival had still seen it coming with enough time to move, to turn what should have been a sword through the heart into a messy side wound that would have taken hours of agony before killing him. 

_ __ _

In some ways, this possibility felt like an even worse fate. For Izuna to be trapped, alone, unable to move or defend himself… 

_ __ _

Worse still, because Tobirama had no idea how to remedy it. 

_ __ _

Not yet, in any case. 

_ __ _

But given what he had observed, there was one thing he could do. 

_ __ _

If that anxiety was Izuna, he had calmed when Tobirama spoke. It was possible that it was a wholly subconscious response. A purely instinctual and physiological one, (especially as he was certain that Izuna, if he were even the slightest bit aware, would not find any comfort in _Tobirama's_ presence). Even so. It had _helped_.

_ __ _

And Tobirama had a duty to do whatever he could to ease the man's situation as much as he could. Given what he'd done. And what he would do.

_ __ _

So, as Tobirama turned back to the scroll in front of him, he cleared his throat. And began to speak.

_ __ _

“The conversion of the matter form from third to first in order to stabilize the frame of the chakra construct seems to require more force in the application of the boundaries...”

_ __ _

-

_ __ _

“You’re serious?” Tobirama asked, trying hard to keep any judgement from his voice. 

_ __ _

He had finally finished his _kage bunshin_, a poor facsimile of his desired outcome, able to move and think independently, but rather misshapen in comparison, with a surprising chakra drain required to maintain its independent physicality, but it would have to do as an Izuna-minder for now, as it was quickly becoming clear that Tobirama was about to become very busy. 

_ __ _

Hashirama was home. Finally. And rather than being happy, relieved to be home, on the land and in the house that they had grown up in, all Hashirama wanted to do was leave again.

_ __ _

And take all of them with him.

_ __ _

“More than serious. Madara has agreed. We’re finally going to do it. We’re going to build the village we dreamt up when we were children.”

_ __ _

His brother, his brilliant, resilient brother with a heart too big for the world and wide brown eyes stared at him from across the desk in his office, an office that had been their father’s before him, and their grandfather before that.

_ __ _

“You want the Senju to relocate and start over. Leave everything behind.”

_ __ _

“Can’t you picture it? A world without the weight of the past. A place to start again, in peace.”

_ __ _

No. Not really. Tobirama didn’t have his brother’s imagination for the fantastic. His musings leant more towards philosophies, sciences, _truths_, not imagination. So no, he couldn’t picture it. 

_ __ _

He wouldn’t tell his brother that. 

_ __ _

“And the Uchiha have agreed to this?” Tobirama asked instead of answering his brother’s question.

_ __ _

“Madara has, of course. It was his dream too,” said Hashirama, looking away from Tobirama to the open window behind him, at the treetops and chimneys and roofs and walls, out beyond to where the sun was setting.

_ __ _

Tobirama was excellent at reading people, his brother included, and he knew this wistfulness, had seen it as Hashirama’s bitter resentment had soothed after years. Knew that it was an echo of what Hashirama thought lost since that day on the river, after Tobirama had betrayed him to their father. 

_ __ _

Hashirama had never really forgotten that betrayal, Tobirama knew. He also knew that his Anija was a good man, possibly the best man alive, and had granted Tobirama that forgiveness he wasn’t sure he’d earned. 

_ __ _

Mainly, because he would never agree that he had done the wrong thing by telling Butsuma. Hashirama believed the best in people, but Tobirama knew better. If he and Butsuma had not arrived when they did, Tajima would have killed Tobirama’s last brother, whether Madara wanted him to or not. 

_ __ _

On the other hand, he was equally unprepared to say that Hashirama’s perspective was incorrect. For surely, to see the world as it was, and believe the best in it in spite of reality was the braver course. Hashirama thought that everyone had the ability to take that course, and if everyone did, then reality itself would change. 

_ __ _

A sound reasoning, but one Tobirama struggled with. Because that braver course, hoping for the best, was also the surest way to disappointment (in the worst case, in the form of two butchered brothers, both buried in boxes).

_ __ _

His Anija pulled him from his musings as he turned back around to face Tobirama once more. His face was open, hopeful and clashed like waves against Tobirama’s granite resolve.

_ __ _

“Please, Tobirama. I can’t do this without you,” his brother pleaded, but it was unnecessary. If this truly was what Hashirama wanted, than Tobirama would do his best to make it a reality. 

_ __ _

So, he nodded, and pushed off the wall he had been leaning on, uncrossed his arms to rest one hand on his sword.

_ __ _

“How can I help?”

_ __ _

Hashirama’s relieved smile was more than payment enough for the simple words, even if it did leave Tobirama feeling disquieted.

_ __ _

Of course he would help his brother. Was it ever even in doubt?

_ __ _

But Hashirama’s face fell a little, as he confided, “I don’t even know where to begin.”

_ __ _

That, at least, Tobirama could help with.

_ __ _

“You’ll need to start with the council. They will never agree, so I recommend circumventing them.” Hashirama tilted his head at him, confused, so Tobirama elaborated, “Propose your new village to the family at large before you ask for the Elder’s opinion. If you can gain enough support from everyone else, you may be able to force their hand. “

_ __ _

Hashirama hummed his agreement.

_ __ _

“And you?” Hashirama asked. “Will you speak in support?”

_ __ _

Tobirama thought it over, and said, “I think it would be unwise at this stage. I am nowhere near as popular a figure among our people as you are. My endorsement might have the opposite effect than intended.”

_ __ _

And it was true. He might have been Hashirama’s heir, but the Elders were only ever willing to acknowledge that fact when they had something to gain from it. Most times, they did their best to pretend he didn’t exist. He was never sure if it was the sacrilegious experiments of his youth, his open refusal to consider taking a wife, or the rumors of his illegitimacy that made his presence distasteful, but on a whole, their hostility towards him was not something any of the Elders tried very hard to hide. 

_ __ _

As for their fighting shinobi, a handful of them found him tolerable, but most of them disliked him. He was sure the reasons for this were varied, from jealousy of his genius, to envy for his status, to the fact that he was most of their commanding officer, to just a genuine dislike of his personality, but suffice to say that beyond Touka and Hashirama, Tobirama kept mostly to himself.

_ __ _

He had more than enough to keep him busy regardless. 

_ __ _

Hashirama looked disappointed though, so Tobirama amended his statement, “It is not that I am unwilling-”

_ __ _

“No, you’re probably right,” Hashirama agreed.

_ __ _

If anyone were to understand Tobirama’s reasoning, it would be Hashirama. Tobirama knew his brother loved him, in the abstract way that Hashirama loved every living soul, but he was also relatively sure that his brother didn’t like him all that much. 

_ __ _

That was the feeling that most of his family shared in regard to Tobirama. They loved him, because he was family, but otherwise...

_ __ _

(His younger brothers had. Had looked up to him with bright eyes and excitement, always desperate for any time Tobirama could spare them, had dogged his steps. Some days he would still turn around and think, just for a moment, that they would still be there, waiting.)

_ __ _

This didn’t bother him much on the whole. He had better things to do than worry about than the opinions of those who didn’t matter. Hashirama’s opinion, on the other hand...

_ __ _

Tobirama crossed his arms again. He changed the subject.

_ __ _

“Have you selected a site yet?”

_ __ _

Here, Hashirama’s smile was back.

_ __ _

“The river where we used to meet as children. From the valley to the cliffs.”

_ __ _

Tobirama thought back, considering. It wasn’t the best place for a fortification. The river wasn’t navigable, for one thing, and it wasn’t near any existing infrastructure, but with enough people and enough work… 

_ __ _

It would do, he supposed.

_ __ _

“I’ll send out a surveying team once you’ve made the announcement,” he said, already thinking through the lengthy logistics of building a city from nothing.

_ __ _

“I’d like to do as much of the work there, with the Uchiha,” said Hashirama, interrupting his thoughts. “We can only do this together, after all.”

_ __ _

Tobirama scowled, chasing his train of thought about sewage necessities with a fresh water river they’d need to drink out of, and possibly fish to contend with, but nodded his consent as the statement filtered into his brain. At least with Hashirama’s _mokuton_, they wouldn’t be roughing it for too long... 

_ __ _

“Very well. When would you like to make the announcement?” Tobirama asked.

_ __ _

“The sooner, the better,” said Hashirama, nearly bouncing with excitement.

_ __ _

“I’ll inform the clan then that you will be addressing them tomorrow at dawn.”

_ __ _

Hashirama beamed at him. “Perfect.” 

_ __ _

Then he turned away. Looked back to the horizon once more.

_ __ _

“It will be perfect, Tobirama. Peace in perpetuity. You’ll see.” 

_ __ _

It was a dismissal. 

_ __ _

Tobirama sighed, but just this once, he was willing to go along with his brother’s dreams. If peace was at all possible, and Hashirama was utterly convinced that it was, Tobirama would make it so. For Hashirama. For Kawarama and Itama.

_ __ _

He would meet his brothers in the Pure Lands and be able to say that he’d _tried_. That he’d died for peace instead of war. 

_ __ _

That would be good enough. 

_ __ _

“Goodnight, Anija.”

_ __ _

Hashirama nodded, but didn’t look back. He never did. Always forward.

_ __ _

Tobirama went home.

_ __ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to Kat1132 for betaing this chapter for me and being my ever loving cheerleader.
> 
> I hope you'll drop me a line on your way out or just poke the kudos button for me <3
> 
> -Moth


	3. Chapter 3

Over the last several weeks of varying lucidity, Izuna could say that he had learned a lot about where he was being held, considering he couldn’t even open his eyes. For one thing, he was kept comfortable, much as he could be. Nothing hurt, and everything was sort of numb, even beyond the general exhaustion. The bed he was in was soft, and the sheets were changed regularly, likely at the same time that Izuna’s captor bathed him, although he had so far been blessedly unconscious for that. The window, to the left of his bed was left open on days when the weather was nice, so that he could hear the life outside, the wind through the trees, occasional talking, too far away to make out clearly, but there nonetheless…

He was rarely, if ever, alone. Other than the door opening the first time he’d really woken, he had no proof that his captor ever left the room. 

His captor was brilliant. This was increasingly obvious the more the man spoke to him. About everything. All the time. It was annoying. 

(It wasn’t.)

He wished he’d just shut up for two minutes.

(He really didn’t.)

So far, Izuna had learned more about theoretical physics and political theory over his last who knows how many hours than he had ever had any desire to learn. It was rarely the same thing twice, as his captor was one of the busiest people Izuna had ever heard of, but also, there seemed to be nearly nothing that the other man didn’t know everything about. Who knew the details of the judicial system of the Land of Waterfalls or the spectrum of electromagnetic frequencies off the top of their head? Well, other than Izuna now. 

His captor was at least considerate about dumping mountains of useless information onto Izuna, breaking down concepts so even Izuna could understand. He seemed to know when Izuna wasn’t getting it. Would reword things or go more basic until Izuna caught up, and sometimes after that, because mostly, Izuna got the feeling that they were just _talking_. About whatever.

But sometimes, when he woke up and panic began to broil again, the voice would pause, and tell him the date, the time, the weather, calm stuff, nothing important (although it did let him know he’d been here _weeks_ now). They would take his pulse again, lay a calming, soothing hand on his chest and bath him in their cool, foreign chakra. There was never any pain, as far as he could feel.

So, to recap, Izuna was alive relatively comfortable, for all that he couldn’t move. His captor was attentive, kept him clean, fed, and entertained.

Which would all be wonderful if his captor wasn’t _Senju Tobirama_.

-

The first time Madara saw Tobirama after the other man had killed his brother, he nearly killed him.

The albino was in the distance, across the clearing Hashirama had made to house their logistical headquarters. Tobirama hadn't looked up from the maps he was surveying, pointing something out to a Senju kunoichi beside him. Even so, Madara could still feel, viscerally, the remembered spike in chakra that had preceded Izuna's agonized scream.

_Not_ killing Tobirama was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Not find out for himself if the rumors were true, if the other man really didn't bleed the same as normal humans.

His cousin Hikaku's hand on his arm stopped him. That, and Hashirama appearing to block Madara's view of his younger brother, drag him away already grinning and chattering away.

Extended exposure wasn't really helping the problem.

“Of the three counicils, the one with the most authority would comprise of representatives elected by the entirety of the fighting shinobi,” said Tobirama

Tobirama was showing Hashirama while Madara brooded, not looking. The walls of the room Hashirama had created as an office when he’d sprouted this building fully formed out of the ground felt tight enough as it was. Like a cage. Instead, Madara was looking out the window at the construction crews below while the Tobirama presented his drafts. He found that not looking at the man eased the bloodlust to a more manageable level. 

He still wanted to kill him. 

“Deferential to that would be two more separate councils that could override the decisions of the first, but only with both of them in agreement. The would be comprised of one full of civilian elected representatives, and the other of every clan head in the village. 

“So you _do_ think that more clans will join us.”

Madara looked around, surprised. Tobirama had yet to show any sign that he actually thought that peace would succeed. From the dozens of letters Hashirama had fielded from his brother during the peace talks, each one containing complaint after complaint about his and Hashirama’s agreements, Tobirama had been nothing but negative.

Here though, Tobirama shrugged just enough to make his pauldrons twitch.

“They are going to have to if they want to survive.”

Hashirama shared a look with Madara.

“That’s not the kind of peace we are building here,” Hashirama chided, hesitantly, as if a reminder would help.

Madara, on the other hand, was convinced that conquest was the only thing Tobirama could have in mind. Of course he would expect them to just slaughter all their competition.

People like him would never change.

The younger Senju crossed his arms and regarded his elder brother with a stone face and those arrogent fucking eyes. 

Madara wanted to break that face, shatter it the way that Tobirama had shattered his world. 

He turned back to the window instead. Out there, his people were working hard, diligently, giving everything they had to make this dream work, working hand in hand with those who were once their sworn enemy. Out there, there was hope.

“Even so,” Tobirama continued, “Their hand will be forced economically if not militarily. It is unlikely that potential clients will look any farther than us, as this new village, with the combined forces of the Uchiha and the Senju are now the most numerous and best equipped shinobi in the Land of Fire. To try and contract for services with another clan against us would be unwise. As such, it would be in the best interest of the other clans to join with us rather than try to rival us.”

“Unless they decide to unite in a rival alliance,” Hashirama said, surprisingly astute for once.

“As to that, I have already thought on a solution,” replied Tobirama, because of course he had, “We should apply to the feudal lords of the Fire Country, the Daimyo, and the Fire Temple for support.”

Madara huffed. The feudal lords were as divided as the shinobi clans, and the Daimyo, their supposed leader, had been not much more than a hollow figurehead for generations, since his lands had erupted into civil war beneath him. As to the Fire Temple, it was the nominal spiritual center for most of the clans in the Land of Fire, but it was isolated, its monks preferring to dabble in philosophy rather than dirty their hands with politics.

There was a pause behind him as the brothers both waited to see if he’d follow up his huff with a statement.

He didn’t. Didn’t even turn away from the window.

“... we’ll think about it,” Hashirama finally said. “What’s this about village elders?”

He pointed again to the mock up constitution Tobirama had written.

“Five would be selected by the martial council from among any clan elder. A vote from three of them would be enough to veto the commands of the village leader.”

Madara did turn around at that. Such a thing was unheard of.

“But Tobirama,” Hashirama began, glancing back to Madara for confirmation, “The leader has to be the commander. He can’t have his orders questioned.”

“In a time of war, yes,” Tobirama agreed. “However, he should play no part in the passage of legislation. Likewise, none of his commands should be absolute or come without any oversight.”

“And on the battlefield?” Madara asked venomously. It was the first time he’d contributed to the conversation, and the first thing he had ever actually said to Tobirama. The Senju’s eyes were just as heartless as ever. “Should the leader have to wait until he’s gained the approval of five cantancerous elders before he can give any orders?”

Tobirama opened his mouth to continue, red eyes flashing. Madara’s sharingan activated on instinct.

Hashirama cut both of them off.

“I agree with Madara, Tobirama. Such an arrangement would be dangerously impractical. The orders of a superior officer need to be absolute.”

Tobirama appeared to exhale through his nose before continuing. It made Madara pleased that at least someone else was as unhappy to be here as he was. 

“I am aware,” the bastard finally drawled, “which is why only two Elders will be present while the leader is in the field or otherwise giving orders. Without the required quorum, they will be unable to contermand the leader. They may only observe.”

That… made sense.

“However, if the leader commits any egregious crime while his authority cannot be challenged, once the crisis is averted and peacetime is restored, the Elders can consult amongst themselves and only then can they decide to bring charges against the leader.”

“And who would have the authority to try and convict the most powerful shinobi in the village?” Madara sneered.

The Ghost’s face didn’t so much as twitch. Instead, Tobirama tilted his head to the side and replied calmly, rationally, “The council of fighting shinobi, of course. It is them who are expected to fight and die at the leader’s orders.”

Again. That made an infuriating amount of sense.

“Still…” said Hashirama, “it could be dangerously divisive.”

His younger brother uncrossed his arms and laid a hand on his sword. Rested it there, nonchalantly, like that sword hadn’t run through Madara’s _last_ brother just months ago. 

“Democracy often is,” he said, “but it is what you wanted, Anija. To that end,” he pointed again to the end of the document, “The leader should also be elected by that same body.”

“_Elected_?” Madara asked.

He and Hashirama were the heads of the village. They were its founders. And there was no question that they were the strongest of all of the shinobi. That was just how things were done among the Uchiha. The strongest reigned. It was how, with enough tenacity, his father had become clan head. How Madara had done so afterwards. Claw your way to the top through grit, through strength, not through a _popularity contest_.

“We’ve already established that the strongest shinobi in the village will be leader. Respect through strength,” Hashirama said, the sharpest Madara had heard him be throughout the conversation with his younger brother.

Again, Tobirama just shrugged off their concerns as if they didn’t matter.

“It would certainly be a factor in determining who is eligible for the position, of course, but the very notion that strength can be reliably measured is faulty. Not only does every shinobi have strengths and weaknesses, but the same match up conducted under even slightly differing conditions could yield different results. The victor of a fight one day might be defeated the next. Likewise, some shinobi are highly specialized. To determine who is the ‘best’ shinobi in the village is impossible as strength cannot be quantified reliably. Rather, the nominations should come from any of the councils and form a variety of the most successful shinobi. From those nominations, the military council of fighting shinobi will elect the Hokage.”

“... We will need to discuss this,” Hashirama said, a dismissal.

Tobirama read it for what it was. “Very well, Anija. I will leave you to it.”

He bowed to his brother, sent an unreadable glance towards Madara, and then turned and left the room. 

“He has a point,” Madara’s old friend began.

Madara knew better. 

“No, he doesn’t. This is all a political device to make _himself_ the village leader,” Madara spat as he came around Hashirama’s desk to face the other man head on.

“I don’t see how,” Hashirama said. “Tobirama doesn’t exactly appeal to the masses.”

“He clearly appeals to your own clan elders, and to Touka, who _does_ appeal. They could try to sway the opinions of your own family against you, if they haven’t already.”

“Look, I understand,” Hashirama began, but he didn’t, _couldn’t_. Tobirama was dangerous, had proved it when he’d killed Izuna and _just_ now when he threatened war against the other clans. The ink on their own peace agreement wasn’t dry yet and he was already trying to use it to wage war. 

_That_ was the kind of man Hashirama’s brother was, and his friend was too blind to see it. 

“-killed Izuna, but it was combat. Izuna was trying to kill him.” -Izuna hadn’t landed the killing blow. Tobirama had “-and he has done nothing but what we ourselves asked for: create a workable constitution.”

“And he came back with _this_,” Madara said, slamming his hand on the desk, on the document between them. “A loophole that seems specifically designed to allow him to stand for the village leader. No one else in the village is near our level.”

“I doubt it. Tobirama has no taste for politics.”

“Or so you hope,” Madara snapped.

“Hey,” Hashirama protested, standing as well, “I know my brother better than you do-” 

He had a point, but Madara didn’t want to hear it.

“He will use it to weaken you and vie for the leadership!” he interrupted. 

“Tobirama wouldn’t do that.”

“You’re blinded by your affection for him!”

“And you’re blinded by your own dislike!” Hashirama said, finally raising his voice. “Tobirama has been nothing but loyal our entire lives.”

Madara made himself take a breath, and then another. He straightened from where he had begun to lean on the desk between them, let his eyes relax. 

This was going nowhere.

“Mark my words,” Madara said, “your brother will be the end of the peace we seek.”

-

It always felt so wrong that this day fell in summer. It was always bright, clear, almost uncomfortably warm, too early for the summer storms, too late for any vestiges of spring to give any relief.

No. It was always bright and clear. Not the kind of day to be spent standing in front of a grave. 

Tobirama brought aloewood incense from home. They were always Kawarama’s favorite. He used to beg Tobirama to bring him some whenever the elder’s missions took him to the capital. 

It was an adult smell, Tobirama thought as he watched the smoke rise. Not the sickly sweet that children usually liked, or even the warm gingerlily that Itama had favored, but then Kawarama had always been mature that way. Quiet, studious, more like Tobirama than any of the rest of their family.

And it had been their mother’s favorite smell. Kawarama had barely got to know her before she’d died bringing them Itama, but he said it reminded him of her.

Her grave was right next to his. Right next to Itama’s just on the other side.

Usually, Tobirama never knew what to say when he stood here, looking at all that was left of his brother, a boy he’d loved, a boy he’d _failed_. But lately, he’d been talking so much to the Uchiha in his home that he was in practice. So used to speaking that, for the first time in his life, the words didn’t tie themselves up in his throat and choke him.

He had something to tell his brother beyond endless war.

“... We’re building a village. The Senju and the Uchiha. A place to start over.”

Only silence answered him.

“I know you never believed that peace was possible. To be honest, I’m still not sure that it is, but Hashirama is determined to try and you know what he’s like.”

It felt a little ridiculous. He, as a scientist and a philosopher, doubted very much that Kawarama still existed one way or the other, much less enough so that he could hear him, but it felt… good to say it. Relieving. 

And there was always the hope that he couldn't seem to squash that somewhere, somehow, his brothers still existed. That all of the philosophers and wise men of old were wrong. That there was a hope of maybe bringing them back one day.

All of his efforts to bend time and the one place he couldn't manipulate was the past.

Not yet anyways. Or maybe never. But he would keep tying. Keep hoping. He didn't have any other way forward.

All the others led him here. Talking to an empty grave, rotting and remembering.

Tobirama shifted his weight, crossed his arms.

“We’re building a better world. Even if it only lives for a short while, it will have _lived_, and surely that is worth something.”

Or at least that was what Tobirama hoped through the nights when he didn’t even have time to sleep. There was so much to do. Most of the principle construction was done. Hashirama’s _mokuton_ had cleared the way, and the combined hands of both clans had made light work of anything requiring brute strength, but the power grids still needed to be established. Tobirama was working on designs for a hydraulic dam to generate electricity, with a plan for a main power hub at the north end of the village, but every time he thought he had the proper scope for the project, more clans joined.

The village was expanding. Fast. And Tobirama had to make sure the infrastructure kept up, and then had room to grow in the future.

Then there were the defenses, another responsibility of his that got more complicated the larger the village grew; the roads which didn’t just need to connect the disparate parts of the village itself, but also needed push beyond the boundaries of the village to link up with the existing infrastructure of the Land of Fire (Hashirama really could’ve picked a spot that already had roads, but no); he had started negotiations with the Daimyo about that (and the existence of the village itself) and the trade routes from the Land of Whirlpool, Earth, and Wind, all of which required careful diplomacy that Hashirama was _supposed_ to be dealing with.

In his Anija’s defence, he was being kept just as busy. Just last week, all of the feudal lords of the Fire County had converged on them at their combined invitation. They and the Daimyo had agreed to support the village founding, but only if Hashirama married Lady Mito of Whirlpool, who beyond solidifying the alliance between Whirlpool and Fire, was also the Daimyo’s niece, by way that his sister had wed the Whirlpool headman. Hashirama knew Mito, had known her when they were children, and had agreed easily enough, but there were thousands of details for their union that needed to be sorted out on top of Hashirama’s usual workload. The minutiae of the village had fallen by the wayside in his efforts to keep up. And so, Tobirama, as per usual, had picked up the slack. 

There was just more work than could be done, or so it seemed most days. 

Which is why, more and more, he was cheating, slightly. At his current chakra levels, he could maintain two clones for an extended period of time. And due to the interlaced nature of their chakra matrixes with his own, there was the added, unexpected effect of memory transference upon their dismissal. It was a boon that was proving invaluable as Tobirama felt pulled in a dozen directions most days. He could have two stay home, one to work on the mountains of legal precedents that needed to be set, another to sit with Izuna, and go himself to deal with any problem regarding other people. 

He had quickly learned that clones could not be trusted with face to face interactions.

His chakra was constantly drained, and he still didn’t have time to sleep, but it was worth it, would be worth it if he could just make this work.

Now, if only the Uchiha, any of them, would work with him. Many of his projects were supposed to be joint, with he and an Uchiha working together, but more and more these projects were being left to him alone as the Uchiha’s hostility made collaboration more trouble than it was worth. 

“Not that I blame them,” Tobirama continued, explaining to Kawarama’s tombstone. “Plenty of our own Senju don’t like me most days, and I haven’t slaughtered dozens of their family members.”

But he didn’t want to talk about that. Not here. Not when it was all for them.

“I miss you,” Tobirama said quietly, looking away from the incense as it burned its last, looking instead to the sky. The confession took him by surprise, as did the next. “It’s been twelve years, longer than I had you, but still… you’re missed. I hope you knew that you would be.”

He didn’t know what else to say. It was another year, and still, standing here, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He gave it an hour, sweating under the sun, feeling the buzz of a thousand things he should be doing, but unable to uproot himself from this spot. 

He could still remember the feeling of Kawarama’s blood seeping onto his skin. He couldn’t leave until he remembered something, anything, else instead.

The sun started getting low. It was time to go.

He was halfway out of the cemetery when a voice stopped him.

“Tobira-chan?”

No one had called him that in years.

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have been surprised to find it was his Aunt Niita, his mother’s sister, Touka’s mother.

She was small, and frail, her hair already gray.

She had lost Kiko, Touka’s little sister, and her husband, in the same month. Grief affected everyone in different ways. The same events that had turned Touka into one of the strongest, fiercest people Tobirama had ever met had broken her mother. Grief haunted his aunt, walked beside her everywhere she went (something they had in common, even if it didn’t make it any easier for him to relate). His aunt spent years in Kiko’s old room, just as the young girl had left it, staring out the open window at the sky, or here. At their graves.

She had been getting better in recent years, coming out to market days and assemblies, even joining Touka, Hashirama, and him for a few meals on holidays, even if she never said much.

“Aunt Niita,” he greeted, surprised to see her.

Trembling, she smiled weakly at him, her hands clutched in front of her. “I should have known I would find you here. It’s today, isn’t it?”

He knew what she meant, so he nodded. 

“How long has it been?” she asked. Her memory was fuzzy these days, a remnant of being stuck in the past. 

“Twelve years today.”

“Oh,” she clutched her hand in front of her chest and sounded _wounded_. She looked at the ground and quivered. 

Tobirama hoped she wouldn’t cry. 

“So long. He was such a sweet boy. So much like your mother.” Her voice wobbled and cracked, “Like my Kiko. They were both so young.”

Tobirama nodded. He didn’t know what to say, never did. Didn’t know when he was eleven and it was Itama and Hashirama grieving, and didn’t know now. All his words were tied in a Gordian knot in his throat as though they would strangle him.

She wasn’t looking at him though. Instead, she stared at the ground, unseeing. 

“... I should go,” he finally said.

“No wait!” she cried before he could move on. She took a step towards him, her black kimono rustling in the silence around them. “I- people forget, no one comes here anymore. With the new village, it’s like everyone has forgotten. But not you.”

“Hashirama’s village is keeping everyone busy, but I doubt anyone has_forgotten-_” he began warily, but she interrupted him, eyes wide.

“But they will! Don’t you see, we can’t just leave them here. Not your brothers, not my bab-” she choked and whispered, “my baby.”

Her sob made Tobirama’s heart clench. Not many of his family were nice to him, but his aunt had always loved him, always supported his mother, even when the entire clan questioned his legitimacy. She bought him presents for his birthdays. He could still remember the smell of the _doarayaki_ she’d make on special occasions, her favorite jasmine tea as she and her sister gossiped with Tobirama on her lap. She made sure he and Touka became friends, even when the rest of the children his age shunned him for being too smart, too strong, too much. 

She was family, and he was _awful_ at this.

“I know Touka said she’d ask you, but please, for me, will you speak with your brother?”

“And ask him what?” Tobirama replied, crossing his arms. He didn’t know what she wanted from him.

“I- we can’t stay here. Not if he’s taking the family and everyone else away, but I won’t leave my daughter, so, please, ask him if I might bring her ashes with us to his new village. I just- I can’t bare it, never visiting her again.”

The logical part of Tobirama’s brain wanted to protest. The new village was just three hours away at a shinobi pace. There was no reason she couldn’t visit. And Kiko was at peace here. Hashirama would never agree to breaking open the family shines, exhuming them, setting their spirits ill at ease.

But this was his aunt. She wasn’t a shinobi. It would take her over a day to travel to the new village and back. It hadn’t even occurred to Tobirama that if all of the Senju left, there would be no one left to honor and maintain these graves, the mountains of their dead. 

And she was weeping, broken, even as she pleaded with _him_, her nephew, her sister’s son. 

He could at least ask.

“... I will speak with him.”

She exhalled a raspy thing. 

“Thank you, Tobira. I can’t tell you how much it would mean to me,” she said. 

Then she bowed, and left, walked between the stones back to the one he knew held her husband and daughter. She knelt and may as well have become stone herself.

Tobirama left the graveyard. 

-

_“-If the community is harmed, you must not be angry with him who does harm to the community. Show him where his error is. Twenty-three: Keep in mind how fast things pass by and are gone- those that are now, and those to come.”_

Tobirama was reading to him again. Izuna didn’t honestly have much of a preference, as the Senju never read him anything interesting. No stories or poems or even mission reports. Nope, always science that he couldn’t understand, or political theory, or, like now, philosophy.

At first, he _hated_ it. Still does, everytime he recognizes that it is _Tobirama_ who has him, is talking to him, keeping him fed and healthy, or- as healthy as can be expected. 

Apparently, people with his _condition_ didn’t tend to live past two months, and Izuna had passed that benchmark a week earlier. He kept expecting to feel the effects, had ever since Tobirama had told him that little gem in passing. 

It had made his heart race, panic with nowhere to go. He had to _get out_. Out of here. Just get the fuck up and move already.

As always, his body hadn’t answered. But Tobirama had. Had assured him that whatever regenerative chakra bullshit he was doing would keep him ‘stable’.

_“Existence flows past us like a river: the ‘what’ is in constant flux, the ‘why’ has a thousand variations. Nothing is stable, not even when it is right here.” _

Which was _weird_. 

More and more, it seemed like Tobirama could tell what he was feeling, would talk to him directly whenever he got upset, or even just curious.

_Weird_. For _so_. Many. Reasons.

First of which, even beyond the whole _how did he get here_ question, was _why Tobirama hadn’t killed him_. Gods knew that Izuna would have done so, instantly, just as soon as he could get out of this bed. Instead, the other man was… taking care of him. The same man that had kille- _wounded_ him, who Izuna had been trying _really_ hard to kill for years had now suddenly decided to keep him alive.

Which was apparently a lot of work. Tobirama told him everything he was doing as he did it, some of which made sense, some of which didn’t, even when Tobirama tired to explain it, but it was clearly a _lot_ of work.

And it wasn’t like the other man wasn’t busy. 

Madara, his strong, loving, wonderful, _stupid_ elder brother, had not only made peace with the Senju, but had clearly decided to play house with them. In other words, everything he had _promised_ he wouldn’t do. Promised Izuna that he wouldn’t be so _stupid_. 

Or maybe not so stupid, since it appeared that even _Tobirama_ had bought into the bullshit. 

_“The infinity of past and future gapes before us- a chasm whose depth we cannot see. So it would take an idiot to feel self-importance or distress. Or any indignation, either. As if the things that irritate us last for more than an instant.-”_

Or was doing a very good job pretending to. Izuna refused to believe it for weeks. Still was hesitant, but whatever leverage his brother and Hashirama had on Tobirama, it must have been enormous to get the other man, usually so stubborn in their constant, never-ending duels, to even play along.

He knew the Senju. All of them, but this one in particular. He would never willingly try for peace.

Or at least he thought he wouldn’t. 

_“Book Six, fourty-seven: Keep this constantly in mind: that all sorts of people have died- all professions, all nationalities, from doctors who spent their lives avoiding it, to tyrants who spent their lives inflicting it, all of them. We have to go too, where all of them have already gone.”_

Which led to the second reason why this was so fucked up. 

This guy, the one reading to him from some long dead emperor’s diary or something, the one that washed him and kept his feeding tube full, changed his sheets and clothes, and every day sitting up with him (which should have been Wrong Thing Number One, because he was pretty sure that his rival had learned how to _clone_ himself while no one was watching), that guy was not at all the same one Izuna had been trying to kill all this time. That guy was ruthless. He had been carving up Izuna’s family for his entire life. Any chance he got, any lapse in Izuna’s attention or ability and Tobirama would aim right passed him and hit another, less skilled, less lucky Uchiha behind him. 

Six times. Six times that had happened. Six cousins, none of whom had survived even the Senju’s momentary attention. 

And each time just made Izuna _hate_ him more.

Regardless if, maybe, he might have done the same, had done the same, when given the chance.

Not the point. The point was, if Izuna had ever imagined what being held_captive_ by Senju Tobirama should have been like, it wasn’t this.

_“The eloquent and wise, the heroes of old, the soldiers and kings who followed them, the smart, the generous, the hardworking, the cunning the selfish, even the holy men who laughed at this whole brief, fragile business. All underground for a long time now.”_

It should have been hell. Torture, thumbscrews, not a feather bed and a constant companion who read to him, low voice quiet and calming. Who opened the window every morning and closed it every night just so Izuna could feel the sunlight and gentle breeze. Who lit incense of aloewood and ginger lily every morning, brought his breakfast up to eat with Izuna while he got straight to work. Not on training, but on admin work that Izuna wouldn’t be caught dead doing, talking Izuna through intricacies of infrastructure and a bunch of stuff he didn’t care about, but was _comforting_ nonetheless.

Gods damn it, the Senju was growing on him. 

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He knew, _knew_ the Senju had to have an ulterior motive, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. Not that it mattered because it wasn’t like Izuna could do anything to stop him either way. Everytime that realization came, Izuna would try, desperately, to call his chakra up, get up, _run_. But he never could.

And the man he thought he’d hated for years never appeared. In his place was this _stranger_.

_“-And what harm does it do them? Or the others either- the ones whose names we don’t even know, those who are no longer remembered?- The only thing that isn’t worthless: to live this life out truthfully and rightly.-”_

It just didn’t make. Any. Sense.

_“-And be patient with those who do not.”_

Tobirama sighed. And stopped reading. Izuna listened as the other man closed the book and stood. That Izuna could hear his footsteps as the man walked around him was on purpose, Izuna knew. He used to not, would just appear beside him, but it was always _terrifying_, and Tobirama appeared to have figured that out. And instead of using it to torment him, now he made sure Izuna could hear him as he moved around.

The Senju didn’t touch him though, settled by the window instead.

“My brother died today.”

Oh.

Tobirama sighed.

“It’s been twelve years, and it still feels like yesterday.

“We were young and foolish, but even now, on days like today, I don’t feel any wiser. As though I am stuck in that moment when I failed him.

“The wise men say that time is a river. That you can never step in the same river twice. Likewise, those that do us injury do not exist past the moment. They are no longer him that hurt us and we are not him that was hurt. Every man is a new man from one moment to the next as every experience shapes us into someone else. Therefore, seeking vengeance is illogical-”

Izuna remembered hearing something like that when he was young, when a visiting monk came to share his father’s hospitality. The enlightened man had tried to share wisdom, but neither Tajima or Izuna had really been interested. Izuna could barely remember his older brothers. All but Madara had died before he could really know them, but he did know that Tajima had never moved passed their loss. It fueled him, drove him to get stronger and stronger until he became clan head. 

He also knew that Tobirama’s father Butsuma had killed the eldest. 

“But when I remember the man who killed Kawarama, standing above his broken body with this bloodsoaked sword… I killed him, but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t fast enough. My own brother bled out in my arms,” Tobirama said.

Izuna could feel the heavy weight of Tobirama’s attention on him. 

Was this it? Was this the moment when the monster Izuna knew was lurking beneath the quiet calm would come out. Finally.

“Three months later, Uchiha child hunters found my last _otouto_. Five of them, from the footprints. They cut him to pieces.” 

There was a moment of silence, heavy and hard, before Tobirama’s attention slipped away from him like water. 

“I’m told the Uchiha’s celebrations on the occasion were most memorable.”

Tha- Izuna remembered that party. It was the first time his father had let him drink, toast with the adults as bonfires were lit. No one had slept as the party went all night long. 

It had never struck him as wrong until now.

“My brother thinks we should all just move one, pretend like it didn’t happen. Wisdom, clearly, even if he does so out of forgiveness rather than a lack of acknowledgement of the wrongs done. But the result is the same. Forward. Never looking back. His whole village, everything.”

This time the sigh was rough, frustrated, much more familiar than the defeated tone Tobirama had used. 

“When Kawarama died, Itama asked whether or not we had a duty to the dead to exact vengeance, so that their spirits may better rest.” _-Yes. Of course you should.-_ “I told him such thoughts were foolish and would only get him killed faster.”

What?

“Existence is defined by perceptions only. We can no better see beyond ourselves than we can grab the air. Good and evil are illusions, formed only by biases of our own unenlightened minds. As such, death, being by definition the lack of perception should not be feared or mourned. It is not an evil. Those who die simply no longer exist.”

That’s not at all what religion said. Izuna knew his mantras, knew of the never ending cycles but Tobirama didn’t give him time to dwell on in, moved right along with this as a given. 

“We do not mourn when people are born, because coming into existence is natural. Due course. Death is its equal partner. No better or worse.”

Okay, but-

“That logic, that wisdom, my Anija’s wisdom. It wars with me as a brother. As a man who mourns. And as a scientist, who wants them back.”

… back?

Another heavy sigh, and the chinks of Tobirama’s armor shifting as the other man stood straight again?

“Forgive me, Uchiha,” the Senju said, “I’m in no mood to give good company this evening. I’ll leave a shadow clone in case you need anything.”

There was a _poof_ and then another presence in the room, but the real Tobirama, who felt just slightly different, more, than the clone, didn’t say anything else. 

Just left the room.

The clone sat down where Tobirama had been, got to work on whatever, and left Izuna alone with more and more troubled thoughts. 

-

“I want to make Madara the Hokage.”

“... What?”

That was not at all how Tobirama expected the conversation with his Anija to begin. He had thought this was already settled, part of the terms they had made with the feudal lords for their support of the village, was part of the pitch that he had put to the Shiranui and Akimichi clans that had convinced them to join. Power shared between all members. Leaders _chosen_ rather than arbitrarily assigned by fate or strength.

“Uchiha Madara should be the first Hokage,” his brother said, as if he fully expected Tobirama to agree with him and his reasoning. 

He didn’t, but he knew better than to deny his brother outright. Hashirama could be stubborn. So, Tobirama let himself perch on his brothers desk, settle in, a subtle motion that made it clear to Hashirama that this would be a long conversation.

“Surely you understand why that would be problematic.”

“I’m not saying we tell people who to vote for, just make it clear that Madara has our full support.”

“It is the same thing," Tobirama beseeched.

"I don't see how," Hashirama argued, leaning back in his chair. 

Tobirama tried to rein in his temper and explain. "We are on a precipice. Don't you see? Everything we do from here on out will have long standing consequences."

"I know. That is why I want Madara to be the first Hokage. It will be good for him. Give him something to hold onto, to look after now that you've killed Izuna."

Maybe his brother was trying to be objective, but it came at Tobirama like an accusation. Tobirama didn’t correct him about Izuna’s fate, obviously, but he neither did he let himself be blown off course.

“Anija, you told me we were founding a new world, correct?”

Hashirama nodded.

“Then everything we do from here on out will set the precedent for the way that new world is run. If that precedent is having an oligarchy of the most powerful shinobi deciding amongst themselves who the new leader will be, then that will be no different from the world we live in now.”

“It won’t be like that. We should just let it be known that Madara would be our first choice.”

“That’s the same thing!”

Hashirama stared him down. He had inherited their father’s eyes. They had always made Tobirama feel inadequate but here, this was too important to back down.

“Okay,” his Anija conceded. “Very well. We won’t make any statements either way.” Tobirama nodded, but Hashirama wasn’t finished. “However, if Madara is elected as the leader, do I have your word that you will support him in that role, despite your personal feelings?”

Tobirama’s brow furrowed.

“I have no personal feelings on village leadership.”

Hashirama rolled his eyes.

“Tobirama. You’re my brother. It doesn’t take a genius like yourself to see the resentments you might still harbor.”

It was difficult to not feel defensive at his brother’s words. Sure, he was not as accomplished as his Anija in the art of moving on, but he was _trying_. They all were.

And to be fair to himself if no one else, Tobirama had been more successful than a lot of his family who had come to him looking for him to intercede in one dispute or another with the Uchiha. In most cases, he listened as politely as he could, but recognized his own lack of objectivity about the situation, recognized that lack as the reason they had sought him out rather than his brother, and sent them to Hashirama.

Hashirama wasn’t wrong, Tobirama wasn’t objective about many Uchiha, especially in light of the recent habit he’d seen for them to slack off their assigned projects if they didn’t directly benefit the Uchiha clan. 

But he also resented that his brother thought he would let his inconsequential feelings influence his behavior. Feelings, symptoms of perception, were one thing, but he would never let them sway him from the path of rectitude, not if he could possibly help it. His brother should know that, not doubt it. 

He ground his teeth and tried to live that creed here. His brother’s lack of faith in him grated, _hurt_, but the system of government they were working for, one free from personal prejudice far superseded his own private injury. 

Or what his brother thought of him. Which was unlikely to change, now or otherwise.

He took a deep breath, and replied, trying to keep his voice even. “I doubt I will succeed in convincing you one way or another, but believe me when I tell you that whomever is elected as the leader of our village will have my full support, be they an Uchiha or otherwise,” he said, meeting his brother’s analyzing gaze head on in an effort to convey his sincerity. 

Hashirama measured him for a moment, before he sighed and sagged in his seat. He nodded.

Tobirama didn’t let his relief show. Instead, he crossed his arms and said, “And besides, Uchiha Madara being _chosen_ as the leader isn’t likely to happen. Even the Uchiha agree.”

And it was true. Rumors of Madara’s growing instability were getting louder, loud enough that even Tobirama had heard them. The rumors about the sharingan he was more likely to dismiss, given his recent observations of Izuna’s biology, but those about Madara were becoming harder to ignore. After he and Hashirama’s near death match, Tobirama couldn’t pretend to be surprised. Madara had ignored the decision of his clan, refused to capitulate despite their insistence. Had tried to force the Uchiha headlong with him in his suicide dive. If Hashirama were any less of a man, Madara and the rest of the Uchiha would be dead. 

Madara being unstable could in fact undermine their entire enterprise, especially if he got any worse. Not that Tobirama blamed him. Tobirama didn’t know what he would do if he lost his last brother. And now, with Izuna still unrecovered, he didn’t appear to be getting any better.

Tobirama wasn’t sure, couldn’t even gander a guess at whether revealing Izuna’s survival, but comatose state would increase that destabilization, what with the younger Uchiha’s well recorded warmongering. Madara may, in light of his brother’s survival, renege on the peace terms they had worked to hard to solidify, as they were directly counter to the promise he had given his brother who was now alive, and not a dead man with no opinion. 

(Tobirama would do anything to see his late brothers again. The reason he’d tried to resuscitate Izuna, on the cusp of death, the reason he persisted in caring for him, it was all for the slightest possibility of a breakthrough in his _Edo Tensai_. By saving Madara’s brother, he might one day get to see his own once more.) 

Besides, it was equally as likely that getting Izuna back would help stabilize Madara’s mental state, Hashirama’s theory of Madara’s need for some reason to protect the village. Madara’s place within the Uchiha as their clan head was already tenuous, evidenced by their near mutiny. Madara, hot head that he was, would doubtless ensure that Tobirama never got the chance to explain how Izuna managed to come under his care, let alone how to keep him alive. He certainly wouldn’t allow him to continue his research. 

So Tobirama would _not_ tell him. Not until he got the answers he needed, Uchiha’s downward spiral be damned. 

For now, he would have to trust that time would prove a good medicine, and that Madara would mellow for the village’s sake. 

Or it wouldn’t. It certainly hadn’t for Tobirama. Time would tell.

Hashirama’s head snapped toward the open window behind him without warning, the sudden movement drawing Tobirama’s wandering attention. 

Tobirama watched as his brother stood and walked towards the window, wondering if he’d missed something. “What is it?” he asked.

“I just felt someone’s presence,” Hashirama said, leaning out the window. “Tobirama, you would know.”

Normally, that would be true. Tobirama tended to use his sensor abilities as a secondary set of eyes, often more trusted than his real ones and depended on almost subconsciously. However, he was currently maintaining three clones. One to sit with Izuna, one to do surveying for a reservoir he planned for up river, and one to work through the mountain of reports Mitari had dropped off from Hashirama the night before. He was trying not to use any of his quartered chakra stores. It had blinded his senses for the moment. 

He said as much. “No. I’m not infusing chakra at the moment.”

His brother hummed but didn’t reply. (Perhaps he didn’t believe him?) 

Instead, Hashirama reached through the open window and picked up a strange leaf with a large hole in it, not commenting as he held it up in front of his face.

Tobirama didn’t have time for this. He had another, more sensitive matter to put to his brother.

“From now on,” Tobirama began, “things will be run democratically.” _As already agreed_. “Any objections?” 

Hashirama turned back to him, face unreadable as he returned to the desk, but he conceded. “No. That’s fine.”

Now, for the hard part.

“In that vein,” Tobirama said. Better to just get it out and over with. “Aunt Niita came to me a few days ago. She had a request I think you should consider.”

“Aunt Niita? Is she alright?” asked Hashirama.

Tobirama shrugged. He wished he had worn his armor, but he’d thought coming without it might put his brother more at ease. He needed all the help he could get, convincing his stubborn brother not to dismiss his concerns out of hand, but looking more comfortable didn’t make _him_ more comfortable.

“‘Alright’ might be reaching. She’s as usual, but I think the relocation of the family here from the old Senju compound may have an… unintended consequence.”

Hashirama sat down and clasped his hands together on the desk.

“Such as?” he asked.

Tobirama looked away, back at the door, and thought very carefully about how to phrase this.

“The Senju compound has been our family’s home for generations. Our parents are buried there, and our grandparents, brothers, sisters. And in Aunt Niita’s case, her child.”

Hashirama didn’t say anything, just waited for him to continue.

Tobirama cleared his throat, and said, “Our aunt is worried that Kiko, and the others, will be left unattended.”

“The compound is only a day’s journey away. The old graves will hardly be out of reach. I’m sure that trips back will be a regular enough occurrence,” Hashirama said, dismissive.

“It’s not close enough for Aunt Niita to make the journey, let alone regularly.” Hashirama didn’t look convinced. “She’s elderly now. And soon there will be nowhere to stay, no supplies or economy there to support visits.”

“... and what is it Aunt Niita would like to do. Stay behind?”

Tobirama stood, and took a step back before facing his brother again. Hashirama was hostile already, had already given in once today to Tobirama, an anomaly on the best day. Now, Tobirama was asking him to do it again.

“No.” That would be unrealistic, what with the entire rest of the family moving away. “Removing her from the support system of the rest of the clan might be worse.”

“So, what does she want?”

Well, once begun must be done.

“She would like to bring the bones and ashes of her daughter with her to Konoha.”

For a moment, his brother just stared at him. 

“No. Kiko is at rest. To disturb her would be sacrilege.”

“So would be leaving her unattended.”

“No.” Tobirama opened his mouth to interrupt, but Hashirama cut him off, “No! If we let her bring Kiko, then all of the family will want to relocate every single ancestor. It’s the antithesis of everything we are trying to do!”

“So, she should just move on? Leave her daughter behind, uncared for, for eternity! And what about Itama and Kawarama! Mother? Father? Should we leave _them_ behind as well?” Tobirama said, shouting now in reaction to his brother’s raised voice.

“They’re at peace! Why can’t you just let them go?”

That brought Tobirama up short. He wasn’t sure where or why the conversation had turned to him, but he didn’t think that was fair. At all.

Besides. Hashirama had never, ever understood.

_“Necromancy.”_

“This isn’t about me.”

“Of course it is!” Hashirama stood, slamming the desk with both hands. “This is about you and your obsession with the past.”

“And your conceit in pretending that it never happened!”

Hashirama went to respond, but held himself up short. Visibly stopped himself from saying whatever it was that he wanted to say by turning away from Tobirama again.

Tobirama almost, almost, wanted to know what it was. What it was his brother thought was too terrible, to voice aloud. 

He didn’t ask. He let the absence of Hashirama’s words ring. 

“Letting go of the past doesn’t mean forgetting it,” Tobirama finally said to his brother's back. “Aunt Niita is not alone in her desire to bring her daughter. You say that compromise is the essence of leadership. Our aunt isn’t asking for everyone, just her daughter. You know how hard the loss has hit her. She is willing to compromise. Don’t we owe it to her to at least consider it?”

There. He'd made his case. The rest was up to his brother.

There was another long moment of silence, before Hashirama sagged, sighed, turned around.

“Very well. We will compromise. I will ensure that monks from the Fire Temple are regularly contracted to purify the graves and see that they are properly tended. But no one will be allowed to be exhumed.”

Tobirama knew that was the best his brother was willing to do. The compromise he’d asked for. He hoped it would be enough to give his aunt the comfort she needed.

Tobirama bowed to his brother. Pleased he could tell his aunt something would be done, even if it wasn’t exactly what she wanted. It was better than he expected, if he was being honest with himself. 

But then, Hashirama stopped him on his way out the door.

“I mean it, Tobirama.” Tobirama looked back, and found his brother's most resolute face staring back at him. “No one.”

_“Necromancy.”_

Tobirama nodded and left.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Kat1132 for the edits. By the way, I made myself sad there in the graveyard. If I succeeded in making you sad, let me know in the comments. I’d love to hear from you.
> 
> P.S. I forgot to mention, but the book Tobirama is reading from is "Meditations", by the Roman Emperor and philosopher, Marcus Aurelius. Naruto has such a weird mix of Japanese and Western things, I'm shaping their society as such. Tobirama specifically mentions 'democracy' in canon, so I wanted to play with the idea that he had read all of the Western philosophies, the stoics in particular. It's blended a bit with Buddhism and Shintoism here, but the original is definitely worth a read.


	4. Chapter 4

He’d been moved. 

Indignantly, Tobirama had carried him like a stricken princess in one of aniki’s children stories, rather than the standard hold for a downed comrade, or even on Tobirama’s back. But no, the Senju had humiliated him with the indignity of forcing him to acknowledge his helplessness as he began what was apparently a delicate process of gathering him and all of the wires he hadn’t known were connected to him (such as a catheter, which Tobirama hadn’t removed, but had shifted with enough force so that he could clearly feel it. It was one of the most uncomfortable things Izuna had ever experienced. He felt like he was pissing himself), as well as his unresponsive body, and _moving_.

Tobirama had been explaining how exactly he was going to move him, but it didn’t make any sense. Something about time dilation and relativity and gravity, all of which was very hard to focus on while Tobirama was moving him. What got his full attention though was the quiet “Ready?” that Tobirama asked him, as if he could fucking reply, before the horrific sensation of being sucked through a straw, then feeling all of his bones snap to a stop, like hitting a brick wall at top speed but painless, just a dead stop. 

“Welcome to Konohagakure,” Tobirama said and set him down on a new, raised bed, somewhere else entirely.

It took Izuna less than thirty seconds to realize the sensation had been Tobirama _teleporting_ him. The same way he had teleported himself, right before he’d nearly cleaved Izuna in two.

(He could still feel the blade, cold and slicing like fire. Could still see the flash, burned into his mind by the sharingan, just enough warning to move, but not enough.)

And he brought him here, to the new Village, the one that Izuna was still half certain Tobirama was making up to trick or torment him. That theory had become more and more unlikely. He still couldn’t discount it entirely, but “the village hidden in the leaves” sounded exactly like the kind of stupid name his aniki would come up with. 

All in all, it was not nearly as uncomfortable an experience as Izuna was expecting when Tobirama first mentioned moving him. Humiliating, yes, but not nearly as much as it could have been, should have been. This didn’t really make him feel all that grateful. Rather, it led to his feeling even more frustrated that even in this, the Senju was undermining his expectations.

The room he was in now, beyond having a raised bed, which Izuna despised, and a window on the opposite side from what he’d become used to. 

He’d had vague hopes that someone, anyone else would come now that he was in the new village. 

But Tobirama seemed determined that he alone would be Izuna’s guard. 

In fact, Izuna was relatively certain that he was being kept in Tobirama’s house. 

Cooking smells, deep breaths of sleep (all too occasionally for comfort), even the dratted Senju kunoichi coming by to drag his minder off to train. 

Izuna hated it. Hated that he still couldn’t move. 

But what he hated most of all was Tobirama’s stupid cat. 

It wasn’t that Izuna didn’t _like_ cats. He had nothing against them. The Uchiha Compound was full of them, mousers and pets alike. They were useful, resourceful, clean, and minded their own damn business. Excellent animals in his own personal opinion. 

Except this one. This one was an asshole. 

He’d awoken one day with the animal curled up on his chest, the compression on his already struggling breathing as effectively as a five ton weight. 

Worse, though was the constant brushing against his nose with its tail. 

It was the acutest torture he’d ever undergone. The tail was _so soft_, and unpredictable in the exact tempo that it moved in, so he couldn’t even brace himself. 

He desperately wanted to sneeze, to move, to do _anything_ so the cat would just shift ever so slightly to the left, but he _couldn’t move_. 

“Hey, now,” said his savior. The cat meowed in protest as it was lifted from its perch on Izuna. He nearly blessed the man, but the traitorous Senju didn’t move the animal far, placing it on his stomach instead. 

Izuna let out a grunt that didn’t transfer up to his body, but the blasted Senju must have heard it anyway, because he _laughed._

__

Izuna knew he’d been right to distrust the man. 

__

“Relax, Uchiha. It’s just a cat.”

__

He knew it was a fucking cat. He wanted it _off_.

__

“There’s a lot of evidence that the vibrations of a cat’s purr helps tissue regenerate.”

__

Izuna didn’t believe that for a second. 

__

The cat was now punching him in the stomach, a kneading press and release like it was trying to reshape his innards. 

__

“I think it likes you.” 

__

Izuna thought many bad words at the man. 

__

Tobirama laughed at him. Actually laughed. It was the first sound of mirth Izuan could ever remember hearing from the man, and it made him want to punch Tobirama in his stupid face. 

__

If Tobirama could interpret that, the way he seemed to interpret everything else Izuna thought, (which was still incredibly unnerving) he didn’t mention it. 

__

Instead, he went back to his desk to continue his droning step by step explanation of the account or whatever he was doing before. 

__

Days passed, and the cat never seemed to leave. He dreaded it’s pouncing dismounts the most. The cat always used his diaphragm as a springboard, making him choke all the more and then terrifying him when it reappeared on his abdomen.

__

But, for the most part, the cat stayed where it was, purring away on his stomach, a constant reminder that he wasn’t alone. 

__

Just like Tobirama’s voice. 

__

Annoying, not comforting. Not in the slightest. 

__

Especially not when Tobirama was telling Izuna about his kin, tales of cousins Izuna hadn’t spoken to in months, and without Madara’s whispered explanations of how exactly they were all related back to him, they were as much empty characters in a strange and unusual play where they all shared his family name, as actual cousins who’s actions he could glean meaning from. 

__

To that extent, at least Tobirama was in the same boat. It might have been unbecoming to bask in the other man’s ignorance of the Uchiha’s motives, but if Tobirama wanted Izuna’s consideration, he shouldn’t be keeping him captive. 

__

And then there were the stories about the Uchiha Izuna did know. 

__

Like his cousin Akihiko, one of the most intelligent, and passive aggressive of his relations, a stiff competition in the Uchiha clan.

__

“I must have explained at least a hundred times why the disc windings in the transformers have to have their low voltage outputs in a delta configuration and the high voltage in a star because of the basic law of the conservation of energy, which any engineer able to toddle should understand, but apparently it is beyond his pea brained comprehension. Just because it’s not how you Uchiha configured your electrical system, doesn’t mean that your system wasn’t less efficient. He refused to listen to reason until I built both ways and proved it to him, and then he pretended he was for the new configuration to begin with.”

__

Izuna might’ve laughed if he could. Clearly, Tobirama had rubbed his cousin the wrong way. Anyone in the Uchiha clan could’ve warned him that doing so would only make Akihiko dig his heels in. 

__

“Honestly, I don’t understand why Madara insists Akihiko continue on the project. Already, it’s taken twice as long as just doing it correctly would have and…” 

__

But Izuna wasn’t listening. 

__

Tobirama hadn’t mentioned Madara yet at all. Not since mentioning that he and Hashirama had decided to found their village together, and that had been months ago. Izuna didn’t want to admit it, but he was desperate for news, any news about how his aniki was doing, was he okay, did he know that Izuna was here, waiting, being _kept_ from him.

__

By Tobirama. Who still hadn’t bothered explaining what he was doing here, why he was still here, or what the fuck the Senju wanted with him. Nothing.

__

His keeper must have noticed, like he always did, the way that Izuna’s heart rate speed up. His breathing increased so much that the cat, who didn’t have a name and Izuna refused to give one, leapt off his chest, yeowling. 

__

“Hmm,” Tobirama trailed off.

__

Izuna could _feel_ him thinking.

__

“My apologies,” he said after a long moment, “It hadn’t occurred to me that you would want updates on your brother’s condition. Foolish of me.”

__

_Yeah, no shit,_ Izuna though, feeling his rage build.

__

Sometimes, when Tobirama was kind and considerate and not hurting him the way Izuna wanted to hurt _him_, he forgot about how wrong this whole situation was. How literally nothing should make this okay.

__

He had heard of people, captive for too long, coming to care about their captors. Going native. Sometimes, he wondered if he was losing his mind. 

__

“Forgive me. There is no reason to be alarmed,” _Bullshit_, “Your brother is in fine health. He is often preoccupied with the stresses of his position as a village founder. There is much still that needs to be done, and I believe that your clan have raised minor concerns about how well he is able to shoulder that burden after your loss.”

__

_Yeah. Because of you._

__

“Beyond that, I’m afraid I cannot say. Hashirama thought it best that I keep my distance from him, as I am doubtless responsible for his turmoil.”

__

_His and mine, you son of a bitch._

__

“I can, however, assure you that I have my reasons for keeping you here. Your condition may hold the key to the reincarnation jutsu I have been attempting since I was twelve years old.”

__

Oh. So that was it, but then did that mean that the Senju had somehow _brought him back to life_? Why? _How_?

__

“I understand that these reasons may seem insignificant in the face of your desire to be returned to your family, but I will also contend that there is no one in your clan with either the medical knowledge or required skill to wake you. It is likely that if you were removed from my custody, you would not live out the month. I cannot know this for certain, but it is not a risk I am willing to take.”

__

_I’m not your plaything!_ Izuna wanted to scream, wanted to rage, wanted to get out of this room and _kill_ him.

__

“I see that these are not enough to assuage you, so I will only ask you to consider what your survival in this condition would do to your brother, who is making an admirable attempt to move on after your death. To have you returned, only to die again might be more than his already tenuous mental state can withstand.”

__

_You don’t know anything about my brother_.

__

“And I will ask for your patience. I assure you that once have discovered how to end your condition, I will. You are no good to me as you are, and so you have no reason to doubt my word. I only require your patience.”

__

Tobirama actually sounded annoyed at this, like he had any right at all.

__

“I can see that my continued presence will only distress you, so I will leave for now. I will return within the hour to check up on you.”

__

_Wait. No. Don’t-_

__

But it was too late. The Senju left the room, silent except for the click of the door closing behind him.

__

The feeling of panic at the thought of being alone and helpless warred with the rage that had built and built and had nowhere to go. And it certainly didn’t help that in some ways, he thought Tobirama might be _right_. The Uchiha healers hadn’t been able to help him before, and Izuna didn’t even know what some of the tests Tobirama ran on him were even for, and he doubted anyone else would either.

__

The Senju was brilliant, more so than anyone Izuna had ever met. He was Izuna’s best chance. 

__

But he was the _enemy_.

__

(But not anymore? Was he?)

__

Tobirama had _killed_ him, had taken him from his brother and his family and robbed him of his life. It didn’t matter that Izuna wanted to do the same to him, had tried his best to do so. That wasn’t the point. Izuna didn’t have to make sense. He just wanted his brother back and to get the fuck up.

__

He struggled with it, this painful realization, for several long minutes. 

__

At some point, he wasn’t even sure when, the cat joined him back on the bed.

__

And no, it didn’t help. The purring and warmth and weight was not at all something else to focus on while he got his thoughts back under control. Wasn’t comforting. At all.

__

Shut up.

__

-

__

“You wanted to see me, cousin?”

__

“Touka! Come in,” Hashirama said.

__

Touka walked into the office. Hashirama was behind the desk, beaming at her. Never a good sign. She closed the door behind her.

__

“Nice hat,” she said. It was the most ridiculous, ugly thing she’d ever seen. At least it was in white and red, rather than some other ungodly color. 

__

“Thanks!” Hashirama said, beaming as her sarcasm went right over his head, “The daimyo thought we should have a set of formal court attire.”

__

Uh huh. Sure he had. If Touka hadn’t known Hashirama since they were children, wasn’t fully aware of his awful fashion sense, she might even have believed him.

__

As it was, she remembered the bowl cut. 

__

“Right,” Touka replied, sarcasm dripping. It looked incredibly impractical, but whatever. Not her business.

__

“Anyways,” Hashirama said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk, hands clasped, “How’s your mother?”

__

“... What?”

__

“Aunt Niita,” Hashirama said, as if Touka needed reminded who her mother was. “Tobirama came to me about how she isn’t really handling the move well.”

__

Gods. Damn. It. Touka told her, _told her_ that she would handle it. That she would talk to Hashirama when the time was right. To not talk to Tobirama about it, that he was busy enough, had enough on his plate, which was true, but not the real reason.

__

In reality, the _last_ thing that Tobirama needed was another thing to set him at odds with Hashirama. 

__

Her mother was so buried in her own head, had been that way for so long, she didn’t see how difficult things had become between her nephews. 

__

“She’s doing as well as can be expected, I guess.”

__

“Good,” Hashirama said, “But do you think she could go without you for a while?”

__

She really didn’t like where this was going. 

__

“... Why?” she asked.

__

“I have a favor to ask.”

__

Yeah. She had guessed that when he had sent _Mitari_ to find her with a note that said _“Come see me when you get a chance”_ instead of coming in person, or with an order to come right then. 

__

She had also guessed that she wouldn’t like whatever it was he was about to ask.

__

“As you know, the marriage negotiations between Princess Mito and myself are underway.”

__

As did everybody. It was all anyone talked about these days.

__

She didn’t say that, just nodded instead. 

__

“There are still a lot of details that need to be ironed out before she and her entourage can move here. As of right now, the ceremony is supposed to take place at the Fire Temple in six months, although that date is another point of contention. One of many,” Hashirama said, sounding infinitely put upon. 

__

If she were a better cousin, she might have been sympathetic. Instead, she laughed at him.

__

“You reap what you sow, Hashi,” she said with a wry grin.

__

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, taking her ribbing with his usual good nature. “You won’t be laughing when you know what I need.”

__

Touka sobered. Down to business then.

__

“I need someone to negotiate the rest of the terms on my behalf.”

__

She felt her eyebrows rise.

__

“Okay. What does this have to do with me?”

__

“I want you to go. Obviously,” he said, like it should be at all obvious.

__

“You can’t be serious.”

__

She was possibly the least diplomatic person she knew. Her style tended towards “yell louder and hit harder” until the other person just gave in. Hashirama knew that.

__

“Of course I am!”

__

“No.”

__

“Wh- why not?” he asked.

__

“Because it would be a disaster, and you know it,” Touka said, not letting his big brown eyes fool her for one second.

__

“No, come on, you’ll do fine. Mito knows you and she likes you! It’ll be great.”

__

Touka only had to raise her eyebrow at him.

__

“Okay, so maybe I’m desperate here. I need someone I can trust.”

__

“So send Tobirama.”

__

Which was the standard answer, had been for years. She expected Hashirama to agree immediately. Instead, Hashirama’s face… froze for a minute, before he sighed. 

__

“I wish I could, but I need Tobirama here. He’s working on so many projects, all kinds of stuff. I can’t really spare him.” 

__

That was true. Made sense, even. 

__

It was also a lie. 

__

Sure, Tobirama was so busy these days he barely had time to sleep. Touka would know, had been trying to get him to take a break, spar with her, or even just eat dinner regularly. He was getting thinner, and even more pale than usual. And yes, Hashirama was a decent liar, but Touka had known him her entire life. And he was lying, and trying to use a truth to do it. 

__

But _why_? And about what?

__

And how to ask him about it when all she had was a hunch?

__

“... Did my mother put you up to this?”

__

Her mother had made no secret of how sick she was of Touka’s hovering, but she was worried.

__

“Wh- no! I just, I know you won’t let me down. I know it’s a lot to ask. You’re going to be gone for months, traveling back and forth between Whirlpool and the Capital and negotiating on my behalf, but I know you can do this.”

__

Hashirama was quick to deny it. Hmm. Either too quick, or it really was something else.

__

Even so, she said, “Hashirama. I am the _last_ person you should send on any kind of diplomatic mission. You know that. Isn’t there anyone else you can send? One of the Uchiha even?”

__

Hashirama smiled at her, entirely sincere.

__

“If it were anything else, maybe, but… Mito’s going to be my wife. I just don’t want to leave anything to chance. And Mito asked for you specifically.”

__

That was less surprising. Touka had always liked Mito. They’d only met a few times, but their families had been allies forever. They knew each other, but... Touka got the feeling that that wasn’t it. It was _something_, but not _the_ thing. 

__

“Sill…” Her reservations about her negotiation skills stood.

__

Sighing, Hashirama said, “I don’t want to make it an order, but… I really need you to do this for me.”

__

That, at least, was entirely honest. Whatever the real reason Hashirama had for sending her away, she clearly wasn’t going to get it out of him today.

__

So, she sighed back. 

__

“Fine, fine, I’ll do it. But you owe me, cousin.”

__

He beamed, and said, “I always do, Touka. I always do.”

__

“Yeah, yeah.”

__

-

__

Madara was late. Again. And Hikaku was really woefully underprepared for this. 

__

When he was growing up, it hadn’t really occurred to him that he might one day be called to function as the clan head. Madara was always so much farther ahead of him, godlike almost in his distance. And Izuna had been only a step behind him, mortal because of the daily defeats his older brother handed him. Izuna took it well, grinning and preening, taking pride in his brother’s strength, but no one was ever allowed to doubt that Izuna was the only one even close to having a chance at besting Madara. 

__

Certainly Hikaku could not have, and never in a fair fight. Genjutsus were his specialty, and both Madara and Izuna’s eyes could see right through them, no matter how layered or subtle they were. 

__

There was no fooling the _mangekyo_. 

__

Even so, Hikaku was better suited to stealth and ambush than an open fight. Izuna only had to catch him and even Hikaku’s skill with his chakra hardened _gun_ staff could only keep up with him for so long. 

__

He had never once won a spar against his cousins, either of them. 

__

So, equally, there was no reason for him to suppose that he would survive the war in either of their place. 

__

And certainly not Izuna, who had been his best friend for as long as he could remember.

__

His cousin was a few years older than him, and Hikaku had always looked up to him, had envied his easy confidence and way that he could make everyone love him and at the same time be the perfect Uchiha. Ruthless. Powerful. Loyal.

__

They didn’t have a single relation that hadn’t _loved_ Izuna.

__

Madara most of all. Hikaku had never thought about how Madara would handle losing Izuna, hadn’t let himself even contemplate it, knew Madara would do anything to prevent it at all cost. Somehow, the reality was both better and worse than he had feared.

__

Initially, Madara had lost his mind. Everyone could see it. Madara was no fool. He must have known that the war was over as soon as Izuna fell. There was no way Hikaku could even hold a candle to Tobirama. The math just didn’t add up. It was over. 

__

But Madara had wanted to fight anyways. Had wanted them all to go down in flames with him. 

__

Hikaku loved his cousin, his last, closest living relation, and was loyal to him as their clan head, but even he knew it was futile. He didn’t defect with the others, would rather go to his death than leave Madara to fight alone, but he understood the anger of the rest of their family when Madara refused to bend to their wisdom. 

__

But Hashirama had convinced him. 

__

And Madara had seemed to recover. For a while. Sure, he still mourned; they all did. But he put everything into the success of his new village, was willing to compromise and work hand in hand with their ancient enemy.

__

Save for one: Tobirama.

__

Everyone, the Senju clan included, knew that Tobirama was only doing this because his brother gave him no choice, and given the chance, he would lash out again, and put another of Hikaku’s family in the dirt. 

__

Tobirama didn’t trust them, had made that clear. Only a fool would trust him in return.

__

So yes, Hikaku could understand Madara’s refusal to work with him, but he didn’t understand why Hashirama kept _insisting_ that the Uchiha work hand in hand with his murderous brother. Did he not understand the danger he was putting them all in?

__

Did Madara not recognize it either? Is that why he was avoiding the meeting the clan elders had called to address the problem?

__

On second thought, perhaps it was a good thing Madara hadn’t been there. He was hardly objective where Senju Tobirama was concerned. 

__

And Hikaku didn’t blame him. Not one bit. But that didn’t mean Hikaku, at nineteen with literally no experience in leading meetings, who had never even sat in on one, thought he was equipped to handle their concerns. 

__

He hadn’t even bothered to learn. Hadn’t considered a future in which he would survive and Izuna wouldn’t.

__

That said, he had always been good at thinking on his feet. It hadn’t been nearly as much of a disaster as he had anticipated. 

__

_“The Senju is growing more bold in his anger. Who knows when he will lash out?”_

__

_“It is unlikely he will do so publicly, not when all the eyes of the Uchiha are on him.”_

__

_“So what, we just wait?”_

__

_And then all eyes had turned to him. The next in line after Madara._

__

_“That is exactly what we will do,” Hikaku said, “Wait, but with eyes open. It’s all we can do.”_

__

And the meeting had ended with no further debate, but Hikaku knew better than to hope for such an easy solution long term.They wouldn’t accept that answer forever. 

__

Especially when it came from him or even Madara. Who was still nowhere to be found.

__

Hikaku had a hunch though. 

__

The new Uchiha district had been built mostly by Hashirama, but not this bit. Madara had them build it, hollow it out beneath the main house after principle construction had been completed alone to protect their clans ancient traditions and, more importantly, its secrets. 

__

Like the stone.

__

It seemed to be occupying his cousin more and more these days. This chamber, with its stoned, firelit walls was just as eerie as the old one had been. Just as claustrophobic. But this is where Madara was, more and more. And it was Hikaku’s duty, as his closest relative still living, to drag him out of here. 

__

It was no place to dwell, mysteries of the stone aside.

__

“I thought I might find you here,” Hikaku said, leaning on the doorway to the chamber, “You know, the elders are starting to wonder where you wander off to all the time.”

__

He didn't let any judgement color his tone. He didn't begrudge his cousin anything, knew Madara was doing his best, coping the only way he knew how. Hikaru didn't mind taking on more responsibility if it meant he was helping, just wished he was more _ready_ for it.

__

Madara just turned his head to look at him, smile hollow on his face.

__

“I'm sure you handled it just fine,” he said, seeing through Hikaku like he always did.

__

“It would have gone better if you'd been there.”

__

Madara hummed his agreement, but made no further comment on his behavior, no promise to ameliorate it any time soon. Instead, the clan head turned back to the stone.

__

“Tell me honestly, Hikaku,” Madara began. Hikaku tilted his head, but Madara didn’t turn back to look at him, just stayed staring at whatever the stone said to him, “Do you really think this is the way to peace?”

__

Hikaku hadn’t really given it much thought, had been too busy to dwell on it. It was different, to be sure, cooperation and community, trying to build rather than burn, but it seemed to be working. Obstinate brother of the new Hokage aside, it was working far better than Hikaku had ever thought it would. 

__

It was progress. It was hope.

__

“I do,” he said. He asked, “Don't you? It's your dream after all.”

__

“I used to. Now I'm not so sure.”

__

That was… ominous. And defeatist. Not words he had ever associated with his cousin before.

__

He knew, _knew_, Madara was grieving. That it would take time. That he needed space and support. They owed it to him. He had given everything for their clan. If anyone was allowed to have doubts, especially now, it was Madara. 

__

But Hikaku knew better to encourage him.

__

“It doesn't really matter though, does it? We're committed, in any case,” he said, stating facts. “Too late to turn back now.”

__

“Ah,” Madara said, which wasn’t an answer.

__

But just as Hikaku knew when it was better not to encourage him, Hikaku was also a deft hand, through course of long practice, at knowing when to let things go. Now was one of those times. 

__

He changed the subject.

__

“Have you eaten yet?” asked Hikaku. 

__

“I'm not hungry,” Madara replied.

__

“Hmm,” Hikaku began, teasingly enough to soften the criticism, “That's not what I asked.”

__

Madara smiled at him over his shoulder once more, but didn’t budge as he began, “No, but-”

__

That wouldn’t do. Hikaku cut him off, pushing off against the wall.

__

“No buts, cousin,” Hikaku said, approaching. He laid a hand on his cousin’s arm and said, “Come on. I'll make you yakitori.”

__

A bribe, but one Madara gave into easily enough. Madara nodded.

__

The two cousins left the chamber together, but Madara paused, just once, to look over his shoulder to where the surface of the incomprehensible stone still laid, flickering in the shadowy light. 

__

-

__

The work on the electrical substation was nearly complete, with power now running to nearly every corner of the new village. Tobirama had left plenty of spaces for expansion. For now, there was only a village to power, but one day, soon, it would be a city. Upgrading infrastructure was almost always harder than expected, so Tobirama had worked with Morinoka, the blonde electrical officer of the Senju, and Akihiko (who was supposedly the same for the Uchiha. Tobirama had his doubts; the man was an idiot) to put together the most up to date system they could, one that was suited both the current output requirements, and would also be equipt for whatever the near future could bring.

__

Surveying the work, even Tobirama could be satisfied with the results, and with the work that had gone into it. Looking out from his position in the doorway of the control office, he saw Morinoka, her short blonde hair a beacon in the afternoon sun, directing workers from nearly every clan already under Konoha’s banner, from Yamanaka to Uchiha to Shiranui with her characteristic efficiency, pointing them to the finishing touches and the finer points of what would be their future duties.

__

It was Tobirama’s last day on the project and he was confident he was leaving it in good enough hands. Uchiha Akihiko might be a moron, but he was good enough at following orders so long as they didn’t come from Tobirama, like most Uchiha. He was to be Morinoka’s second though, not Tobirama’s, thank the gods. He was sure her famous temper would keep him well in line.

__

Another successful integration. With every project that succeeded, the more promising the entire enterprise of the village seemed.

__

Maybe this could work after all. 

__

That thought was reinforced by the three chakra signatures approaching. Three children, only one of which he knew personally, Senju Jikano, but Tobirama was unsurprised to recognize his tagalongs as his new friends from the Aburame clan, who had only joined Konoha a few months ago, and an Uchiha boy who Tobirama didn’t know, but wore his family crested blacks with pride. The three of them could be seen playing together regularly. What should have been an impossibility, a dream of a peaceful future out of reach, these three lived and brought to life everyday. Three kids from families who had been fighting and killing each other for generations had found their own way forward in the way that all the adults seemed to struggle with. 

__

But Tobirama was mostly fine with that, even as the Uchiha’s scowl at the sight of him contrasted so strongly with Jikano’s grin. After all, the peace wasn’t for him, one of the adults who had perpetuated the war, who had only known that war so long that it was written on their bones and in the blood they had spilt. No, it was for the future. One where hopefully the next generation could be given a foundation from which to do better. 

__

Like these three were already living. 

__

“Hey, Tobirama-sama!” Jikano said, waving at him from the substation entrance.

__

Tobirama raised a hand to hold him there and made his way to them rather than having the untrained children come into the, though relatively stable, still dangerous, substation.

__

“Jikano-kun,” Tobirama replied once he was close enough.

__

“Hashirama-sama has us running his messages today,” Jikano said, beaming smile showing off the gap in his teeth. 

__

“I see,” said Tobirama.

__

“He wanted us to bring you this and ask if you had the notes on the new reservoir plans for him ready yet.”

__

Tobirama nodded and pulled out his book. He had made it himself, from the paper to the ink to the binding, so that there would be no other chakra system to conflict with his own on the delicate seal work inside. He’d even gone so far as to tan the stingray leather for the binding. It had taken months for his twelve year old self to earn the funds and develop the skills, but it had proved a good distraction from his grief, and now he had a hundred pages of stable storage seals that he could carry with him in one pocket.

__

He opened it to the tab he had labeled “hydro” and flipped to the reservoir page. Two one-handed seals later and the desired scroll appeared in a puff of smoke all while he looked up at the sky, judging the height of the sun to gauge the time as just after noon, maybe one. 

__

“Have you had lunch yet?” Tobirama asked as he handed over the scroll. 

__

“Nope,” Jikano replied, still grinning.

__

Humming, Tobirama reached for his wallet. He pulled out five hundred ryo. “Get your lunch on me,” he said and handed it over to the boy, before ruffling Jikano’s hair. “Now, go on. It’s dangerous here.”

__

“Thanks, Tobirama-sama,” Jikano said. The boy ran back to where his friends were still waiting, wary, but less so now than they were before.

__

“See?” Jikano said, loud enough to carry across the distance back to Tobirama’s sensitive ears. “I told you! Tobirama-sama’s awesome!”

__

He waved the money as evidence. The Aburame nodded, but the young Uchiha looked unsurprisingly unconvinced. 

__

“If you say so…” 

__

“Tobirama,” Morinoka’s voice efficiently pulled his attention back to her. 

__

Tobirama spared one more glance for the children, before turning to Morinoka. She was in the control office he’d just left, and waved him over.

__

“Take a look at this,” she said, pointing to one of the screens.

__

“That’s odd,” he said, looking at the reading. It shouldn’t be fluctuating that much. 

__

“I’ll check it out,” Morinoka said.

__

“I’ll come with you.”

__

They walked across the substation to the transformer. A Yamanaka named Idane was already there, looking at the meters.

__

“What’s going on?” Morinoka asked the other blond.

__

“I’m not sure,” the man said, but-

__

A spark.

__

“Get back!” Tobirama shouted, shoving Morinoka back. He only had a split second, but the substitutions jutsu was nearly instinctual.

__

He swapped with the Yamanaka and threw up a guard. He leapt back, fast, just fast enough.

__

The transformer popped, cracked, then roared as it exploded into a white light and hail of sparks that nearly blinded Tobirama's already annoyingly sensitive eyes. It was followed by a fireball, orange and black, hot as an Uchiha _katon_.

__

His right hand came up on instinct to protect his eyes.

__

The skin on his face, the only place his armor left uncovered, turned red from the heat, first degree burns, his hair and eyebrows singed, but his speed had always been his greatest strength. He made it back, just in time to avoid serious injury. 

__

The explosion subsided, leaving behind it a blazing inferno as bolts arced from the still malfunctioning transformer.

__

Tobirama looked around from where he’d landed, chakra holding him to the equipment opposite the substation from the still burning transformer. A few workers had been blown back. Some were burned, but the fire threatened to start a chain reaction.

__

Morinoka was helping the Yamanaka he’d swapped with up, as their initial position wasn’t far enough away to completely avoid the blow back.

__

She was already barking out orders to evacuate.

__

Thinking quickly, Tobirama thought through the _doton_ jutsus he knew as he leapt down to help her and the Yamanaka up, as they were still closest to the blast zone.

__

Shoving them away behind him, his hands flashed _ram, dog, snake_. His then slammed his right hand to the dirt.

__

“_Doton Kekkai: Dorō Dōmu_”

__

An earthen dome sprouted like jaws out of the ground, encircling the malfunctioning transformer, breaking the wires and steel that attached it to the surrounding substation, cutting it off, suffocating it.

__

“Is everyone alright?” he asked in the abrupt silence that followed the absence of the roaring flames.

__

He got various affirmatives, and a few worrying negatives, but they were interrupted by Akihiko as the Uchiha finally decided to show up. 

__

“What happened?” the Uchiha asked, urgently for someone who’d just got there.

__

“A malfunction.”

__

“But how?”

__

“I’m not sure,” Tobirama said, shortly.

__

“What do you mean, ‘you’re not sure’?” the Uchiha protested loudly right in Tobirama’s ear. “You were right there!”

__

Yes. He had been. And if he was a hair slower, he would have been very injured, or the Yamanaka would have been dead.

__

The Uchiha was still squawking.

__

“Silence!” Tobirama snapped at him. The Uchiha flinched hard at his ire, but Tobirama didn’t care. “You have a station in disarray and injured people under your command. The investigation into the hows and whys will wait until the crisis is abated-”

__

“Tobirama!” Morinoka called from behind him. He looked back, and saw her helping the Yamanaka down. His left foot, ankle, and half of his calf was smoldering, the fabric burned away, melting into his skin, and he was quickly going into shock. 

__

Summarily, Tobirama dismissed the troublesome man next to him for the wounded Yamanaka, who was turning white and biting his lip to hold from crying out. Tobirama knelt down, and quickly pulled out a kunai.

__

“Raise his legs,” he told another shinobi, Morino Yugoro he noted vaguely, who had come over to help. Morinoka had turned on Akihiko and was having him get back to the control booth and kill the power while she got triage set up for the wounded outside the danger zone. Tobirama cut away the smoking sandal and pant leg, before forcing healing chakra into his palms, turning them green. 

__

He had to be fast. The situation was not necessarily stable yet. 

__

“Eizan! Send for Hashirama-sama,” Morinoka said. 

__

But Tobirama told her. “Don’t bother, he’s on his way.”

__

And he was. Tobirama could feel him and Madara both already halfway up the cliffs.

__

“What happened?” his Anija asked as he landed beside him.

__

“I’m not sure,” Tobirama answered, still knitting back together the Yamanaka’s leg, but his Anija knelt next to him and waved his own hand, glowing an even brighter green than Tobirama’s, over the Yamanaka’s chest. Tobirama felt Hashirama’s chakra overwhelm his own, and the burn under his hand healed nearly instantly.

__

His brother had always been a much better healer than him. 

__

Tobirama stood.

__

And was immediately confronted by Madara, sharingan active and spinning. Tobirama very carefully didn’t reach for his sword, but it was a near thing. 

__

“What do you mean, you don’t know? It’s your project,” Madara said, full of spite.

__

Tobirama ground his teeth. “The readings were normal until they were not. There must have been a malfunction.”

__

“Some fucking malfunction. That blast could be heard for miles.”

__

Tobirama knew that. He had been ten feet from it, and he really didn’t appreciate Madara’s tone.

__

“It was likely a mechanical failure. We’ll know more after we investigate.”

__

“I’m sure you’ll-” Madara continued to shout, aggressive, _angry_ enough for Tobirama to take a full step back, ready to evade the blow he could see in the line of Madara’s chest, but Hashirama intervened.

__

“Enough you two!” they both looked to him, “We have wounded to care for, and a village to reassure. You can bicker about it later.”

__

Hashirama sounded, in that moment, as always nowadays, like a Hokage, not a brother. It made Tobirama’s spine straighten.

__

He wasn’t the one being irrational.

__

But fine. Hashirama was right. They had work to do.

__

Tobirama turned away from Madara, showing the Uchiha his armored back, but surveying the organized chaos around him. Morinoka seemed to have most of the actual people under control, Akihiko had three other people in the control room, flitting about uselessly between the screens and switches in there while sparks still flew from some of the now disconnected wires around the earthen dome. 

__

The place to start then.

__

Stalking over to the control room, he entered, cutting through the chaos with a deadly calm.

__

“Move,” he said to the Uchiha, not Akihiko, another one, equally annoying in this moment. She scuttled out of his way.

__

Akihiko turned on him.

__

“We can’t figure out-” the man began, but Tobirama had no time for him.

__

“Get out of the way,” Tobirama snapped.

__

He moved towards the control panel, ignoring the way the idiot had to scramble to get clear of his path.

__

Taking in the flashing lights, spinning dials, and running screens, he quickly began punching in the appropriate overdrives to cut the power and reroute it to the back-up generators he’d insisted they instal. Outside, Morinoka had people suiting up in proper safety gear and caping all the live wires, estimating the damage, Hashirama was dealing with the triage, healing the wounded, and sending out messengers to the now doubt panicked villagers, and Madara-

__

Madara was in the doorway, talking to Akihiko, watching him.

__

Figured. 

__

The live wires died as Tobirama flipped a switch. He turned to the screens on the left, leaving Madara again, at his back. In the only doorway. 

__

Tobirama knew he had a _hiraishin_ sealed _kunai_ in his pouch, just in reach and tried not to feel cornered, even though he knew how fast Madara was, he likely wouldn’t be able to reach it if the Uchiha tried to close on him. 

__

The whole station vibrated slightly as the backup generator beneath it roared to life.

__

Straightening, Tobirama turned to Madara, who had apparently sent Akihiko off to do something, and was now just watching Tobirama, not bothering to hide his suspicion, but Tobirama wasn’t one to back down. 

__

It was his first time alone with the Uchiha clan head, and for once, the raging inferno that was his usual wrath towards Tobirama felt cooler somehow. Icy. Cold. 

__

Premeditative. 

__

Tobirama rested a hand on his sword, tensed. 

__

“You’re burned,” was all the Uchiha said.

__

Tobirama’s brow furrowed, and he could feel it crack. The pain was there, but negligible, but the Uchiha looked down at Tobirama’s hand.

__

Tobirama looked down at it. The hand he'd thrown was a vibrant red, standing out starkly against his pale skin. Yellow, pustulant blisters were forming. He hadn’t even noticed. Now that he did, they flared into painful awareness, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t let any of that show on his face.

__

Nothing could be stupider than showing Uchiha Madara weakness.

__

“Out of my way, Uchiha.”

__

Touka. She was as subtle as a wrecking ball and Tobirama loved her for it. She shoved passed Madara, even as the Uchiha began to move out of her way.

__

“You okay, cousin? Morinoka said you caught the worst of it,” she said as she came over to him.

__

Nodding, Tobirama said, “I’m fine. The Yamanaka got hit worse than me.”

__

“Hashirama’s seen to him,” Touka said, taking his throbbing hand, “Said you pulled a _kawarimi_ with him. He’d be dead if you hadn’t moved him.”

__

Tobirama didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything, just let her poke at his forming blisters. 

__

“Any idea what happened?” she asked.

__

Shaking his head, he said, “No, but I intend to find out.”

__

She looked up at him, serious as he was, and nodded.

__

When he turned back to look at Madara, the other man was already gone.

__

-

__

Tobirama didn’t leave the substation for the rest of the day, helping get the power back on, find out what the damage was, what could be fixed or replaced with what they had on site and what would have to be remanufactured and a thousand other things that demanded his attention. 

__

Come sundown when he finally called it a day, he was much, much more exhausted than he should have been. The drain of maintaining his clones was startling, and he hadn’t had time to sleep the night before, so hadn’t fully recovered his chakra after holding two clones all day. Then he had split it again that morning, only one, to watch Izuna (and hopefully make a dent in the endless paperwork that seemed to multiply faster than he could possibly process it), but that, and the healing he’d done, the _doton_ jutsu, not his best element, hell, even the substitution jutsu had left a noticeable drain.

__

That was all ignoring his injury. However minor, even the best healing jutsus still left the lingering drain of the trauma. Thankfully, Touka had made one of the other medics who arrived to aid his Anija heal Tobirama’s hand. Quietly, which Tobirama appreciated. 

__

He was annoyed, but unsurprised when Touka drug him out to a late dinner before letting him go home. 

__

“You want to try and tell me that you will make yourself dinner if I let you escape?”

__

Okay. She had him there. As usual.

__

So, now they were sitting side by side at the counter of one of the new _izakaya_, small, with just a bar and a few tables jammed in around the pub, sharing a few beers and a spread of some pickled seaweed, soy beans, salt grilled saury, and pork skewers.

__

It had been too long since they’d one this. It used to be a weekly tradition, back before the village founding, before Tobirama found himself too busy to breathe, before everything. Now, dinners were spent at home with Izuna, pouring over paperwork, trying to stay afloat.

__

Touka was stubborn though. Even if he didn’t have time for this, he saw her nearly every day. She brought him lunch or snacks, or even tea in the morning, helping him on whatever project she caught him working on as best she could. Touka had even taken up the habit of even running interference between him and the rest of the world, getting his intransigent assistant to just do what he told her for once, filing his paperwork (it tended to go missing when he turned it in) with the new Hokage Tower bureaucracy. 

__

It was like everything he did was harder than it needed to be. Even something as simple as requisitioning _paper_ for filing was made infinitely harder by a smiling, useless (_Usually Uchiha_, he thought unkindly) face staring back at him. 

__

He doubted the explosion that afternoon would make those issues any less prevalent. It helped not at all that he could now sense the negative emotions he could increasingly feel directed his way by just about everyone he came across. Living with Izuna had created a necessity to focus on the empathetic aspect of his sensor abilities as he never had before. He had become better at reading the Uchiha, and so likewise, he had gotten better at reading everyone else.

__

It was not an entirely good thing. Tobirama had always vaguely known the antipathy that most people had for him. He certainly didn’t go out of his way to make himself likable. But still, the extent that negativity (from fear to outright aggression) towards him was a widespread consensus was not pleasant, especially as it rubbed up against his consciousness nearly all day long, corrosive. 

__

Knowing _why_ his brother consistently insisted that his staff on nearly every project included at least one Uchiha made it more bearable. He knew that resentments left to fester grew worse, not better, and that interacting with the Uchiha would normally be a feasible way to mend bridges, but this situation was far from normal. It was growing worse, not better. He could feel it. 

__

Not that he would tell Hashirama that. Especially as his brother was included in the trend. He had known he was far from his brother’s favorite person, but the more in tune he became, the more that sentiment felt like an understatement. And likewise, that too was getting worse. Not Better. Vague irritation was becoming frustration, restlessness transforming into anxiety with every meeting.

__

And Tobirama wasn’t sure why. And knew he lacked any of the social skills to remedy it.

__

He had never tried to make any one like him before, didn’t even know where to _start_.

__

(Maybe he shouldn’t _have_ to. Not with his br- Anija.)

__

None of which he wanted to dwell on now. He had more than enough to worry about.

__

Like the way that the substation explosion was looking more and more deliberate the more Morinoka told him about what exactly went wrong. 

__

“It should have taken years for the cellulose and oil to even begin to absorb water and therefore degrade cellulose's ability to insulate,” he explained to Touka as they ate. 

__

“Hmm,” Touka nodded thoughtfully. She had stayed with him at the substation, helping Akihiko replace damaged connectors and hook them up to one of the backup transformers while he and Morinoka picked through the destroyed, chared, pile of rubble, looking for the cause, “Do you suspect enemy action?”

__

“It’s too soon to tell. There could have been a flaw in the manufacturing that was equally culpable,” he said, claiming one of the pork skewers.

__

"Or sabotage," Touka replied.

__

Tobirama tilted his head in agreement.

__

"Still, I suppose it's an unlikely target," she continued after shoving some saury in her mouth, "Why target just one transformer, not the whole system, or at least take out the back up generator?"

__

"Could have been all they could get to, or they were hoping the chain reaction would be large enough to take it out as well. Either way, Hashirama's doubling security for the next few days, just in case."

__

“Gods, what a time to leave. I wish I could stay and help.”

__

What?

__

“Where are you going?” Tobirama asked.

__

Touka looked at him strangely.

__

“Hashirama didn’t tell you?”

__

Of course not. “Tell me what?”

__

“He’s sending me to Whirlpool,” Touka said, “To conclude his and Mito’s marriage contract.”

__

_What?_

__

“Why you?” Tobirama said, hoping he sounded as incredulous as he felt. Touka was the _least_ diplomatic person Tobirama had ever met.

__

Touka shrugged hard and shook her head. Her top knot had held up valiantly, but it had been a long day, and the violet strands were beginning to come loose, down in flyaways on all sides. They twisted with her movements.

__

“Hell if I know. Hashirama’s insistent though. Claimed Mito asked for me.”

__

That was plausible, but from Touka’s sideways glance, he gathered that didn’t entirely convince Touka either.

__

“Surely one of the elders would have been a better choice?”

__

They would have been. Prestige might not matter to Hashirama, but it mattered to the rest of the world. Touka was a junior member of a branch family, and related on their mother’s side, not their father’s, in whom the bloodline was vested. 

__

(Just when he needed her most, is cousin was _leaving_. Even beyond all of the practical help she brought, she was also one of the only safe harbors he had left, one of the only people he felt his genuine affection for returned, wholeheartedly. He didn’t know what he would do without her. It was already so hard, harder than he wanted to admit, with her.

__

Duty was never easy, but this felt like a punishment he hadn’t earned. 

__

He had _one_ friend, and when he needed her most… she was abandoning him.

__

But he would never, ever, let her see that. They were shinobi. This was reality. And he wouldn’t make her leaving harder for her than it had to be.)

__

“That’s what I said, but Elder Tatsura is coming along too.”

__

“Oh good,” he drawled. Tatsura was one of the only people with sense left on the Senju council. 

__

She smirked at him in good humor, but also relieved that he wasn’t taking her leaving personally, he could now tell (not that Touka’s emotions had ever really been hidden from him; it was one of the reasons he liked her so much). Touka worried about that sometimes, even with him, that personal feelings led to resentment of duty. 

__

It was never a necessary concern for Tobirama. Duty, as he well knew, always came first. 

__

And after the last few months, he felt he was more than qualified to empathize with being given unpleasant duties. 

__

Such was life.

__

Still, he would miss her, wasn’t really sure what he would do without her, but he supposed he would just have to do what he had always done, and make the best it with what he had.

__

“Anyways, lets not think about it,” she said, downing what was left of her beer and raising the empty glass for another round. “It my last day free from the special hell that is diplomacy, and I refuse to spend it moping. Come on, cousin,” she shoved him. “Let’s get drunk.”

__

After the day he’d had, he didn’t disagree.

__

But he certainly didn’t drink as much as she did. One of them had to carry the other home, long experience told him who would be doing which job.

__

It was past midnight by the time he left her at her door, after she had leaned on him the whole way home, bitching loudly in his ear about how much she _hated_ diplomatic missions, Hashirama, and life in general, but she was smiling, so he considered his work done.

__

“Hey, Tobirama,” she said as he turned to leave.

__

She was fumbling, trying to get her shoes off, but she stopped when he turned back, leaned on the doorway instead.

__

“I’m sorry about Mom,” she said.

__

Oh. That. Tobirama shrugged.

__

“It’s fine. I was happy to help.”

__

“I know you were,” said Touka, holding on to the doorway to keep from slipping down it. “But you shouldn’t have had to. I told her I would talk to Hashirama when the timing was a bit better.”

__

Again, Tobirama shrugged, more than tired all of the sudden, and said, “There would never have been a good time.”

__

“Still,” she trailed off, before deciding on, “Can you do me a favor?”

__

“Of course.”

__

“Look after her? I’m worried,” Touka said, honest and uncomfortable.

__

Tobirama tilted his head at her. He had more than enough going on, more than enough to do, already had another whole person he was responsible for, but they were _family_, and that mattered to him. 

__

“I will.”

__

He waited until she nodded before turning to leave.

__

Touka called at his back. “And look after yourself! I won’t be here to watch your back!”

__

And just like that, she sounded her normal, challenging, feisty, and overconfident self, so he didn’t bother turning back, just raised and waved a pale hand in the moonlight, a goodbye and a dismissal all at once, saying, “It’s the other way around, cousin!”

__

“Asshole!”

__

He smiled the whole way home until the door closed, and he remembered the taciturn Uchiha in his guest room. He sighed. At least he had company, surly though it was.

__

-

__

“So, you’re certain it was sabotage?”

__

Hashirama’s brother shrugged. He was expressionless as always and once, just once, Hashirama wished he could read whatever was going on in that mind of his.

__

“Or negligence. Morinoka doubts she will be able to give any more definitive answer given the evidence left behind by the blast.”

__

That was… convenient. 

__

Hashirama leaned back in his chair, folded his hands on the desk before him.

__

“What do you think?” he asked, measuring Tobirama across the room.

__

He had already read Morinoka’s after action report. He knew that Tobirama was reporting truthfully what Morinoka had already passed on to him.

__

But he also knew that Uchiha Akihiko was _convinced_ that Tobirama was at fault.

__

Hashirama wanted, desperately, to trust his brother, but it seemed that, since the peace, they couldn’t agree on anything. Tobirama seemed to constantly go out of his way to lend his voice to the opposition. 

__

Even on the first day of the peace talks. They had barely begun before the first letter, full of the Elders’ protests in his _brother’s_ handwriting reached him. 

__

Dozens, hundreds had followed.

__

And now, every meeting with his own council, his brother’s name came up.

__

_“Tobirama agrees with us on this matter.”_

__

_“It is foolish! Even Tobirama agrees.”_

__

_“Perhaps Hashirama-sama should consult with his honorable brother on this matter?”_

__

Hashirama wasn’t entirely sure when every single thing he did became the Clan Elder’s business, or _when_ Tobirama, of all people, had become their darling. As far as he knew, the Elder’s had always looked down on his brother for his birth (which Hashirama had always thought was stupid beyond belief, there father had _never_ doubted Tobirama’s legitimacy, woe to he that even whispered of it).

__

Even if it was true, what an idiotic reason to diminish someone, especially someone as brilliant as his brother.

__

And Tobirama was _brilliant_. 

__

But he was also an indomitable, indestructible, and, on occasion, intransigent force. 

__

One Hashirama almost never knew what to do with.

__

It might have been different, if Hashirama hadn’t grown up as Butsuma’s heir, and Tobirama as the spare. Their childhood had flown by for the most part, apart. It was like Hashirama had turned around one day and realized that his brother had become a stranger while he wasn’t looking.

__

Maybe it was at Kawarama’s funeral, or the day he realized that Tobirama had been spying on him for their father, or the day they found him with his hands buried in a fresh corpse, trying to bring it back to life.

__

Some nights, Hashirama would wake to a racing heart, nightmares of his brother soaked in blood, grasping, rotting, skeletal hands of the dead reaching up to grasp, strangle, and bury them all.

__

So. His brother was odd. That was what Hashirama told people. People like that cantankerous whatshername from the Inukuza-Inumuzuk- Inuzuka, whatever, who had almost _not_ joined the village because Tobirama was supposedly _rude_ to her. (Join the club. Tobirama was rude to everyone, Hashirama included.) People like his aid Mitari, who hated running messages to Tobirama, afraid to catch him in a mood.

__

People like Madara. Who thought he was crazy at best.

__

Or traitorous, at worst.

__

“I think that to err on the side of caution is always wise, but we should take care not to insult anyone with an accusation.”

__

Anyone, as in Tobirama himself?

__

No. 

__

Hashirama wouldn’t believe it. It was all just the same vile nonsense his brother had been burdened with forever. Everyone always thought the worst of Tobirama.

__

(But if everyone thought so, there must be some truth in it?)

__

No. _No_.

__

He wouldn’t believe it. Tobirama had bled for him, had bled for their clan. Even if it never seemed to affect him (_ghost_) didn’t mean anything. He had followed Hashirama faithfully, even all the way here, so far from anything either of them had ever known.

__

(Or had he? Tobirama still seemed so far away from peace. Even Hashirama could tell.)

__

Hashirama changed the subject.

__

“Uchiha Akihiko has lodged another complaint against you.”

__

Tobirama snorted, which Hashirama might once have commiserated with if it wasn’t such a serious complaint. As it was, Tobirama making light of it seemed… inappropriate somehow.

__

“What is it this time?”

__

“He says you shoved him.”

__

“He was in the way.”

__

“Tobirama, he’s your subordinate and an Uchiha. You need to be careful with how you treat them,” Hashirama said, rubbing his brow.

__

When he looked up, Tobirama was staring at him in that unnerving way of his, pale face and red eyes piercing across the space, a scientist trying to pick apart an interesting specimen.

__

It made Hashirama feel like bacteria. He hated when his brother looked at him like that. He was half sure that was why Tobirama did it. 

__

“It was an emergency situation. He lost his head. I acted in the best interest of the village.”

__

Okay. That was fair. Even Hashirama, who had only given the panicking Uchiha a fraction of his attention could tell that the Uchiha, however good of an engineer, was not suited to lead in chaos. Still… 

__

“Tobirama,” Hashirama gave a heavy sigh and stood. He leaned both hands on his desk, and looked his brother dead in the eye, making sure he had his full, undivided attention. That his brother knew how absolutely serious he was. “The friction between you and the Uchiha is a greater threat to village security than a downed power station. You need to keep your head down and for once in your life, try to be conciliatory. We need this to work.”

__

Just like that, Tobirama became utterly unreadable to Hashirama, like shutters snapping shut against the wind. 

__

There was a long silence, before Tobirama finally bowed to his elder brother.

__

But when he straightened, it was like he had frozen over. What little his brother had shown him of his thoughts had vanished completely, leaving him feeling like he was wandering in the dark. 

__

Hashirama strangled his own frustration. Why couldn’t this be easy for _once_. Every conversation they had was a battle; it felt like Tobirama was unwilling to work with him, took everything personally. 

__

Didn’t he understand what Hashirama was trying to do here? How much they needed this to work? How much he needed his little brother, his last, precious brother on his side for _once_?

__

Obviously not. That was the problem.

__

“If that is all, Anija, I will be getting back to work,” Tobirama said, not asked, voice as solid as frozen ice, as unfeeling as a ghost. 

__

Fine then. Hashirama was equally out of patience. He let his brother go with a nod.

__

The slamming of his office door was more than enough evidence that Tobirama was just as unhappy with him as Hashirama was with Tobirama.

__

That made two of them.

__

_Good._

__

(It really, really wasn’t. Hashirama didn’t know what to do. Why couldn’t Tobirama _see_.)

__

Sighing, the First Hokage sat back down at his desk and got back to work.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies. 
> 
> Sorry this one took so long to come out, but real life ate me as I got a job and went to a music festival. Also, this chapter felt like it fought me the whole way. Huge shout out to LostInThePines, who must have read different iterations of this five different times, but is still always lovely and encouraging. 
> 
> I'm really curious to hear what anyone thinks of this chapter, so drop me a line if you are so inclined!
> 
> Much love,  
Moth


	5. Chapter 5

When it was late, and Tobirama’s clones or the man himself was quiet, pretending to sleep or supposedly allowing Izuna too, Izuna wondered if Madara missed him.

-

Madara wondered if this was what drowning felt like. Every breath ached, like he couldn’t get enough air. Everything felt heavy. The weight, forever on his chest, felt like a thousand feet of water separating him from the rest of the world. 

Getting out of bed was harder now, knowing his brother wouldn’t be there. 

He had thought that there would be an end to it, as there had been before. 

For certainly, he had seen death, had grown up walking behind it, through the ash it left behind. The bitter taste of it, like the iron in blood and some curdled, ruined thing, never really left his mouth. Hadn’t not since he was sixteen, putting his father in the ground next to a mother and brothers he’d barely known. But always, his younger brother had been there to help him, to haul him out of bed and put on his armor and pull him through the day. 

Now he wasn’t. And that wound wasn’t mending, no matter how many days passed, it still ached.

Madara had never thought himself dependent on anyone, would have laughed if someone had said it was so. He was the Uchiha clan head, feared across a continent, perhaps across the world. He didn’t need anyone. He had always said so.

He would give anything to tell Izuna that it wasn’t true. That he was _needed_. 

(_Please. Don’t go. Don’t go without knowing. I have so much still to tell you._)

But he couldn’t.

He thought peace would help. 

Hashirama was like a brother he’d been missing, a mind and strength to match his own, and a compassion, kindness, easiness that made it feel like they’d known each other forever. So, Madara had thought, maybe he could help. That the peace would help.

And, to be fair, founding the village gave him much to do, but it was also often more than he could handle when he couldn’t even focus on anything for more than a few moments. Flailing about, running, or ruminating, staring at a stone as if it could give him an answer, _anything_ to make it worth it. 

But it never did. Just haunted him, incomprehensible. If only he’d had time, had Izuna’s eyes, but Amaterasu wanted his brother, and took him, leaving Madara with nothing but the same ash and the distinct feeling that he was flying apart at the seams, withered, lost at sea. 

Drowning. And freezing in equal measure. 

Everyday, his fingers felt a little more numb. Food tasted like nothing. The noise of human company, endless chitters of meaningless words drummed on his shattered eardrums and he couldn’t stand it, wanted the snow, painful ice, to finally bloom from his chest and kill his skin, kill the ache, until he could sleep. 

For now, this all just felt so far away. Even here, in the Hokage’s Tower, with everything they’d dreamed coming up around them, growing stronger and faster than they could have hoped and it still didn’t feel like enough.

It had been. Enough. For a little while. It had felt like progress, like moving forward.

Madara had always abhorred war. It always, always seemed so futile, and it cost so much. Had cost him his whole family now. He had thought peace might have made it better, had tried.

But it didn’t. 

What was it worth if he had no one to share it with?

He knew, or he had thought he’d known that the feeling would pass. That grief would fade like a long winter, that summer would come again, but now, he wasn’t so sure. 

He wasn’t sure of anything anymore, including whether it wouldn’t be better to give in, and join his brother, brothers, father, _mother_. 

Maybe it would be. It was clear that the village, even his own clan, didn’t need him anymore. They had made that clear when the vote for Hashirama had been near unanimous. 

That his clan was losing confidence in him was only fair; he was losing confidence in himself. 

But he was not so far gone yet that rumors of the younger Senju brother didn’t reach him.

The same Senju that was heading his way down the darkened Hokage Tower, well after dark, with half a dozen scrolls under one arm and the same blank face that still haunted his nightmares.

Tobirama was luminous in the moonlight, like the Ghost people called him, a phantom, cold. 

(Like how Madara himself _felt_. A ghost in a shell of who he used to be, nothing but frigid air.)

Madara stopped, to see if the Senju would do or say, try anything. His _sharingan_ blazed to life, glowing in the dark, but Tobirama didn’t flinch. 

(Madara wished he would. He _should_ be afraid.)

Instead, the Senju, indifferent asshole, just nodded at him and kept walking.

And just for one moment, Madara wasn’t drowning anymore, wasn’t frozen and numb. The same fire that had driven him for years, the one that let him push through a war that robbed him of his entire family, ignited again. 

It felt like he could breathe again. Confronted with this, the man who killed his brother, but who had also equally lost brothers and seemed no worse for wear for it, he felt like he could _fight_ again.

“Going somewhere, Senju?” he asked as the other man came level in the hallway with him.

Tobirama stopped, turned to face him.

“I’m taking these to the archive room,” the Senju said, lifting the scrolls.

“Surely the Great Senju Tobirama has better things to occupy his time with,” Madara said, his tone more aggressive, needling, vicious than it needed to be.

But Tobirama didn’t rise to the bait as Madara had been absolutely _certain_ he would. All he had been hearing since the founding of the village from his family was how reactionary, how easily angered and vindictive Tobirama was, all things that meshed perfectly with what Madara had always known about Hashirama’s younger, warmongering brother.

Instead, the Ghost just shrugged, and said, “Evidently not.”

And then he waited, patiently, looking calm as anything, but Madara’s _sharingan_ couldn’t be fooled. For all that the Senju’s face was blank, his muscles, the tendons of his forearms were tense, ready for a fight. He was very, very carefully not looking Madara in the eye.

_Good._

Tobirama wrongly took Madara’s silence as a dismissal, and began to say, “If there’s nothi-”

But Madara interrupted him.

“How is it, Senju, that every time we have ever been in a room alone together, you have somewhere else to be? You’re not afraid, are you?”

Tobirama just tilted his head at him, that face still _infuriatingly_ blank. But he didn’t flinch, didn’t panic, the way that Madara thought he _should_. 

He had killed Madara’s brother. His _last_ brother. He _should_ be afraid.

But he wasn’t. And that only made Madara more _frustrated_.

“Hashirama thought that, in light of your bereavement, it would be best if I did not antagonize you with my presence,” Tobirama said and turned to leave, “As such, I should be goi-”

But no. That simply wouldn’t do. 

It wasn’t _enough_.

In an instant, nearly as fast as Tobirama’s own monstrous technique, (Madara needed no seals to cheat space and time and murder) Madara slammed his hand into the wall in front of where Tobirama now faced, blocking his path. The plaster cracked under his gloved hand, but Madara didn’t care as he was suddenly in the Senju’s face. 

Said Senju didn’t react, didn’t even so much as twitch, just stopped, and turned to face Madara, but his eyes. His carmine eyes, bloodsoaked at the man himself, blazed as they finally met Madara’s own.

“Do you think me a coward, Senju,” Madara spat, leaning in, “That I am so weak that just your presence would be enough to _wound_ me?”

The derision in his voice would have been palpable if he were a hundred yards from the Senju, rather than inches. As it was, Madara loomed, taller, and terrifying in his wrath.

But still, Tobirama didn’t react, didn’t fight back, do _anything_. Just tilted his head at Madara.

“No,” he said. “I think you are grieving, and I am not so much of a monster to make that more difficult than it already is.”

Madara snarled. “Don’t presume you know anything about me, _Senju_. You have no idea. It is not grief that moves me, but _wrath_. You have no idea what it is I feel. What I would do to you.”

The hand Madara had on the wall clenched into a fist. He leaned forward and said, right into the Senju’s ear, “What I would do to the man who killed my brother.”

He was close enough to feel the other man’s sharp exhale, and was surprised. For someone so cold, the breath was warm on Madara’s cheek as he huffed out a sigh of... irritation?

“Do I not?” Tobirama bit out back.

And the question took Madara so much by surprise that when Tobirama shoved him, a hand pushing hard into the center of Madara’s chest, that the Uchiha rocked back on his heels, gave way. Not enough to take a step back, but enough to give the Senju breathing room. 

Enough space that Madara could clearly see Tobirama’s hand now rested on his sword. 

Sneering at it, he then met the Senju’s furious eyes.

(Humorous that he’d pick _now_ when Madara was so close to snapping, to finally dare to look him in the eye.) 

“What, can’t handle a conversation? We’ve finally come to the real reason for your avoidance then,” Madara said. Tobirama didn’t have a chance to respond beyond his glare becoming sharper, before Madara continued, “Or perhaps it’s not that. Perhaps you’re finally ready to give up this facade? Take up that sword, and we can find out if you really don’t bleed.”

Madara really, _really_ wished he would.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Tobirama huffed. Madara slid a foot back to the ready at the movement, but Tobirama just shifted his weight, and adjusted the scrolls he was carrying, hiking them higher up under his arm. 

“That I would seek to make things easier for _you_ while you seem to endeavor to make my every move difficult brings into question which of us is pretending.-”

“_Easier?_”

But Tobirama didn’t answer the charge in Madara’s incredulous question. Instead, he continued as if Madara had never spoken, “-And regardless of my personal feelings, I would not break my Anija’s peace for anything. Would you?” Tobirama asked, rooted, a rock against the raging fire of Madara’s anger. 

He waited for an answer, but Madara didn’t have one. He didn’t know. He hoped not, but…

Clearly, he wasn’t as stable as he had thought he was. Any provocation, any reaction at all, and Madara would have tried to kill Tobirama, something he had sworn a hundred times he wouldn’t do.

But in that moment, he _wanted_ to. Wanted a reason, _any_ reason.

And Tobirama refused to give him one. Just turned away, and continued down the hallway as though Madara had never stopped him.

And if left Madara strangely… ashamed?

And very, very cold. Again

Impossible. 

-

It was too nice a day to be waiting around inside. His mom was doing something in the kitchen, but she wouldn’t let him in to see, kept putting her hand on his head and turning him around back towards the door.

“Run and play Kagami. Stop getting under foot.”

“But Ma-” 

“No. Don’t be annoying. It’s a nice day out. Go play.”

Kagami huffed, and went to find his sister, but she was doing katas with her new tanto, freshy received for her tenth birthday last week. She only let him talk for a few minutes before she threw him out too. (Though admittedly, tying to swing from her arm as she was practicing holding her postures probably didn’t help.)

“It’s too early for your jabbering. Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

Not really, he thought cheerfully, but left anyways, sneaking out the back gate and down the sideroad. When he came to the low fence that separated the Uchiha houses from all the others, he hopped it easily. 

At least Konoha was more fun than the old Uchiha Compound. It was bigger, for one thing, and not as crowded. There was plenty of space to spread out, streets to run down, new places to explore. And it was so colorful! 

He didn’t realize the walking disaster that he was, flicking from shop to shop, interrupting the merchants setting out their goods for the day, running up to the shinobi he saw and asking them the first thought that popped into his head. _Why do you have marks on your cheeks, what’s your dog’s name, how’d he get so big, can I pet him, I had a dog once. Well, my cousin did, and only for a minute, cuz Uncle Shuuske made him get rid of it but we named it Spot cuz it had a spot right here on his eye and that meant that we just had to name it Spot, you know cuz all dogs with a spot get called spot, at least in my favorite books, what books do you l-_

That’s about how far he got with the Inuzuka, by far the most patient person of the morning, before they growled and told him to get lost. 

So he did.

The new training grounds were _awesome_. They were huge! And full of trees and rivers and snakes and all kinds of stuff. Months ago, he was never allowed to play outside the walls of the Uchiha compound. He’d tried once, but Cousin Hikaku had led an entire guard contingent to find him and his mother had spanked him between her tears.

_“It’s not safe, you stupid boy! We’re at war!”_

But they weren’t anymore! And he didn’t have to hide behind the walls. He could run out here in these giant forests Hashirama-sama grew just for them.

And if he had to play alone, well that was okay! At least there wasn’t anyone to glare at him and call him annoying. 

So he clambered up and over some roots as he went deeper into the trees. He might have gotten a little lost, but that was okay. He’d find his way out eventually, or run into the cliffs, and he could always climb a tree to find where he was.

Up ahead, way deep in the trees, he thought he heard something. Grinning at the prospect of fun, he shuffled towards the sound, trying to be as sneaky as possible. He was really good at it, everyone said so when he made them jump. Cousin Hikaku had once thrown a kunai at his head when he said hi because he’d been so startled and it was _so cool!_ He’d only missed by _that_ much.

So when he crawled over a giant root into a clearing, he didn’t know who was more startled, him or the herd of deer.

He gasped, eyes wide. They were beautiful.

As one, all their heads came up and twenty eyes met his. Which was a little creepy, but so _cool_. 

The giant stag stood closest to him, his antlers striking out wide and sharp, like the horns of the samurai’s helmet in his sister’s favorite story book. He was huge! Kagami had seen deer before, but none of them were this big. 

The stag turned towards him. It stomped its feet and blew through its nose, dropping its head as fit took a threatening step towards Kagami. It did it again, and bellowed. Kagami took a step back, and tripped. He fell into the roots he had been climbing over. 

The horns, beautiful before, turned deadly in an instant. The stag dropped its head and charged. 

Kagami closed his eyes, flinched away, but he was stuck! 

He heard rather than saw when the stag pulled up short, skinding in the grass.

Kagami looked up with huge eyes. 

Standing in front of him, were shinobi sandals, then black pants, blue armor, leading up to a ruff of white fur. The shinobi, who Kagami had never seen before in his life, had a hand on his sword and whatever look he had on his face must have been pretty scary because it stopped the angry stag in its tracks. 

The breeze, felling leaves around them as it meandered through the trees, was the only sound as the stag and the man stared each other down. Kagami held his breath.

A flurry of motion, and the deer, stag included, retreated, and flew into the trees.

The stranger-shinobi turned and knelt at eye level with Kagami.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

But Kagami didn’t answer beyond nodding, too distracted by the man’s appearance. He looked like a ghost, but with red eyes, but not sharingan, and funny red lines on his face.

“Are you a ghost?” Kagami asked.

The ghost blinked, but didn’t look offended.

“No,” he answered, and held out a hand to help Kagami up.

Kagami beamed, showing off the gap where his front tooth had fallen out last week, and took the outstretched hand. It was warm, so not a ghost then, Kagami thought. The not-ghost helped him up.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” the not-ghost said.

Kagami took a deep breath (always a bad sign) and was off.

“Mama was busy with breakfast so she told me to go and play but nii-san was busy and didn’t want to let me play with her so I left ‘cause the village is so much cooler than just the Uchiha part. I saw a dog! And then a ninja, and the old man at the stand by the bridge gave me an orange and it was so tasty, and the woods here are so much bigger and cooler than the woods back home. The trees are like thiiiiiiiiiiiiiis big and those deer were huge. I’ve never seen trees or deer like that, but you’re so fast! I didn’t see you coming at all. You must be even faster than cousin Hikaku. How did you get so fast? Is it ‘cause your eyes are red? Nii-san says that the sharingan make her faster, and your eyes are red so-”

A hand on his head quieted him. He bit his lower lip. Annoying. Right. He looked up, but the shinobi didn’t seem annoyed. Instead, he was smiling, bemused.

“Breathe,” the shinobi said. Kagami pouted, figuring that was all he would respond with, but the shinobi continued, “The trees are bigger here because they were artificially grown by Hashirama-sama, the Hokage. The deer are not native here, but have migrated south for the winter. They are larger to protect themselves from the cold of their homeland, where they spend most of the year.”

Kagami looked on with wide eyes.

“As to why I am so fast, it is a mix of my constitution and intense training from when I was your age. My eyes are red for the same reason that I am pale and have white hair. I was born this way.”

Kagami beamed. 

“What does ‘art-ficially’ mean? And ‘con-sti-tution’ mean,” Kagami said, sounding out slowly the new words, as the shinobi turned away, but he looked over his shoulder at Kagami, so he scampered after him.

“Artificially means ‘not naturally’. Hashirama used his mokuton, a technique that combines water and earth style elemental ninjutsu to manipulate and form plant matter.”

The shinobi took a breath, but Kagami had new questions.

“But how can he combine the elements? I thought jutsus could only use one? And what is ‘plant matter’?”

Still, the shinobi didn’t look annoyed, even as Kagami grabbed his hand to stop from falling as he tripped. Instead, he effortlessly lifted the boy and swung him forward lightly until Kagami got his feet back under himself. He didn’t even drop his hand after, instead just continued with his explanations.

“All elements are formed from one another to create balance. For instance, to create water, two elements of air, molecules of hydrogen and oxygen, are combined using heat, fire, to fuse them together. The reaction caused creates water. So, theoretically, it is possible to combine elements to create various other reactions, though to my knowledge, no one other than the Hokage has managed to control more than one at a time without some form of genetic mutation. For Hashirama, manipulating water and earth comes naturally, and the following reaction creates plant life that he can shape to his liking.”

Kagami looked up with wide eyes. There were so many words there that he didn’t know, he didn’t even know where to start.

“You’re really smart, mister.”

The man smiled at him.

“And you are naturally inquisitive.”

Kagami knew that word. It was what grown-ups called him when they didn’t want to say ‘annoying’. He sighed.

“I know. Mama says I shouldn’t bother people so much.”

The shinobi hummed, but didn’t speak as Kagami tripped again, this time stubbing his toe painfully. He didn’t cry, he was an Uchiha, but it stung and he bit his lip.

The hand dropped his, and instead two calloused hands went under his armpits.

“Careful,” the other shinobi said, and picked him up. Next thing Kagami knew, he was on the shinobi’s back. “Hang on,” he said.

Kagami wrapped his arms around the shinobi’s neck, burying his face in the soft white fluff around the collar. He thought that the other man would do that leaves-disappearing thing that Hikaku did and then drop him back off with his mom like everyone else. He sighed. He didn’t want to go home yet.

But the shinobi didn’t do that. Instead, he said, “Questions are no bother. If you do not ask, you will not learn.”

Blinking, Kagami peaked out of the ruff, around to look at the face of the man carrying him. He could only see a bit of it, just the side of his cheek, with it’s strange red marks, and one eye. He looked stern, watchful, but not mad. Not really.

So, Kagami swallowed and asked, “Are you sure? Because I have a lot of questions.”

The man smiled again. He was nice, Kagami decided.

“I am sure,” the shinobi said, “I also have many questions.”

It was Kagami’s turn to smile.

“I’m Kagami!” he said.

The man nodded. “And I am Tobirama. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

There was a moment of silence as Tobirama continued walking through the woods, heading slowly back towards town.

“... So what does ‘con-sti-tution’ mean?”

-

Izuna didn’t want to admit it, but he preferred the real Tobirama to the clones. They were fine but there was something just slightly _off_ about them. Creepy, if Izuna focused on it (which, he had nothing better to do). They read to him, but clearly only whatever Tobirama ordered them to. They seemed to have slight variances in their behavior that were just unsettling enough to make them feel like strangers while Izuna was still helpless enough for that to be terrifying. But on the whole, they were fine.

They never tried anything. Some of them were even noticeably friendlier than their summoner, but they were all _off_. Also they seemed to lack whatever Tobirama had that let him read things from Izuna. The Uchiha didn’t know for sure, especially as he had no way to ask, but the real Tobirama always reacted to whatever was feeling strongly, and the clones never did.

But Tobirama would _talk_ to Izuna. For the most part, the clones just droned on, reading to him, letting him know that he wasn’t alone, and tending to the duties regarding his care, such as maintaining and checking the equipment that was plugged into him all over, turninig him over, opening and closing the window, and even occasionally moving the fucking cat when it was being a particular asshole, but none of them shared thoughts of their own, if they had any. Tobirama, the real one, had tried to explain it once, but it had been one of Izuna’s bad days, and he had dozed off before he could get more than the vaguest grasp on how it worked. He couldn’t figure out how to get the Senju to return to the subject.

Beyond that, beyond the thousands of tidbits from Tobirama on all kinds of subjects, sometimes about the same one Izuna’s rival had been working on for months or one of the new projects that seemed to sprout up like weeds for the perpetually busy Senju, sometimes about new jutsu developments, like the clones or how he was still fiddling with the hiraishin, trying to get the ‘gateway seals’ (Izuna wanted to _see_. He had always liked seals, and Tobirama clearly knew more about them than anyone Izuna had ever met, including a few Uzumaki) to transfer to objects and people at the touch of a hand rather than having to etch or hand draw it. He was even working on a new one, some sort of sand blast to smother electrical fires, which was a “conflagration of wind and earth infused chakra”. 

(Neither of which were his rival’s affinity, of course not, what the hell? Another question he couldn’t manage to ask.)

But beyond all of that annoyingly fascinating shop talk, for the last few weeks, if felt like Tobirama was talking more _to_ Izuna rather than _at_ him. About people, things, thoughts, and ideas. His days. 

They sounded bleak, if Izuna was honest. 

He didn’t know what to do with that. 

He had never, ever, thought on his perpetual enemy’s home life. They were trying to kill each other, not make friends. If he had, he supposed he might have imagined that it looked a lot like his own.They were rivals in nearly every way after all, alike in age and status, ability if not mannerisms.

(Okay. Ignore whatever the fuck Madara and Hashirama had done for years. The _rest_ of the family were out to make war not friends.)

They had both lost brothers, enough to only have one left, but for all that the circumstances seemed similar, Izuna was becoming more and more aware of just how _different_ their lives really were. 

Maybe it was just that the Uchiha were a more tight knit bunch, but Izuna could count only a handful of meals he had taken alone. For one thing, he lived with Madara in the main house, which was open to every member of their extensive family. It was rarely, if ever, empty.

It was just- Izuna was always Madara’s right hand. His brother had been stronger, more resilient than Izuna, the undoubted Clan Head between them two of them, but he’d never been all that good with people. Barking orders, leading them to survival if not victory, that suited his aniki, but compromise? The constant juggling of various personalities, conjoling and convincing people to go his way was a lot more complicated than just waving around the biggest stick (or in this case, the most advanced _sharingan_ that their family had yet seen). It was true, the strongest ruled, but ten mangy dogs can kill a lion. The Uchiha were not nearly as much of an autocracy as they might outwardly appear. 

(And, not nearly as autocratic as the Senju were, he was quickly finding out.)

Izuna was a people person, for the most part. He liked talking over drinks, meeting with family, talking to people, hearing both sides of something and helping mediate arguments so that no one left happy, exactly, but both could be satisfied, exactly the kind of stuff his brother abhorred. He liked helping people, liked _people_, and for the most part, they liked him.

(He wondered, in an aching sort of way, what Madara did without him. Was it bad that Izuna _wanted_ him to not be okay without him _and_ wanted him to be fine? Was it bad to want to be _missed_?)

It clearly didn’t work the same way between the Senju brothers. Izuna was not sure why he thought it would be. It was obvious even from the battlefield that Hashirama was much more personable than his ferocious, quiet, terrifying younger brother, but…

Tobirama was an accomplished diplomat. He had brokered truces with several clans against Izuna’s own, and Uchiha spies in the Capital said he was a regular, effective visitor to the Daimyo’s court, advocating first on his father’s, then his brother’s behalf. He was able to convince power players on a national stage to move in his clan’s favor, but that didn’t necessarily equate to him being well liked. Izuna couldn’t _stand_ most of the Uchiha’s best politicians. They were good at their jobs because they were impressive, not likable.

It was likely that Tobirama was the same.

So maybe, the not likeable thing was true as well? Izuna didn’t think so. He’d spent _months_ in the other man’s company and, loath as he was to admit it, it wasn’t all that objectionable. Tobirama was still a little terrifying. Sometimes (more often now, Izuna noted) he would forget that it was his rival he was ranting at about his day and his chakra would crackle, sharp, _dangerous_, like a storm on the sea, crushing and chaotic and it would make Izuna’s heart race for the _war_ to come. But he was also… Kind. Considerate. It wasn’t just him caring for Izuna that made it clear, but the things he would do beyond that. Like calm himself down immediately no matter how frustrated he was when it was clear that Izuna was scar- uncomfortable. Like open a window for him. Read to him. Take care of the stupid cat for him.

Like look after the most wayward of Izuna’s young cousins when no one else would.

“He’s a good boy,” Tobirama said, which, _no he wasn’t_. Izuna was well acquainted with that terror. Kagami was the single most _naughty_ child Izuna had ever known. It was like every word his parents said went in one ear and out the other. He was constantly wandering off into a _warzone_, walking up to strangers to see if he could talk them into shutting him up with incessant, never-ending questions.

But Tobirama had put up with the boy for a whole afternoon, even with how busy the Senju was. Apparently, he now had an office in the new ‘Hokage Tower’, where he spent most of his day, supposedly being helped by an assistant, but Izuna had his doubts. The man seemed even more tired than before.

He wondered what said assistant had thought about Tobirama showing up with an annoying seven year old and keeping the boy occupied almost the whole day. And also how the Senju managed to make time for it. Even now, he was working on something while he spoke absentmindedly to Izuna, clear by the scratches of a pen on a page. 

“He’s curious, with an aptitude for problem solving. I’m sure he will make a fine shinobi if he can survive his childhood with those intact.”

Okay. Izuna didn’t get it. At all. There was no way that _Tobirama_ could be so- 

Kagami was an _Uchiha_ for the gods’ sake. And Tobirama _hated them_. Had always hated them, following step by step in his father’s, and grandfather’s, and great-grandfather’s footsteps farther back than anyone could remember. 

Except he had saved Izuna’s life.

For his own, still infuriatingly vague reasons, but still…

For surely, Tobirama was the one to injure him in the first place, but Izuna had been thinking on and off about that moment for months now and he had to admit that maybe, just maybe, he had forced the Senju’s hand.

He’d had him on the ropes. Izuna had never felt like he’d had an actual upper hand in their fights until the moment before the Senju cut him down.

It could just have easily have ended with Tobirama in the ground, and Izuna knew himself. He wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help him back then.

(Now, he wasn’t so sure.) 

“Kawarama was the same way,” Tobirama said.

That pulled Izuna away from his musings.

Tobirama _never_ talked about his dead brothers, hadn’t since the anniversary of one of their deaths a few weeks ago, and that had been the first time. Izuna knew their names, had since he was small, but he still couldn’t help but shy away from thinking about them as people. Children. Kids his family had _killed_.

Beloved by a brother who clearly still mourned.

(Izuna now knew why he lit incense every morning, and wished he didn’t.)

“He was inquisitive to the extreme. Our father didn’t know what to do with him, he questioned everything. Orders, commands, corrections, _everything_, he had to know the reason why or he wouldn’t do it. He used to follow me around and beg to borrow my books as soon as I was done reading them, train with me, even if I was busy or dismissive, he never let me get away with it, would badger me until I gave in and explained whatever he wanted to know. He was so full of-”

Tobirama stopped. Izuna waited, desperate suddenly to hear more and to _know_ what had made this man what he was- the kind who would care for an enemy, but live _alone_ always, who could devote _days_ to a stranger and have _no one notice_-

“Forgive me, Uchiha. I must be more tired than I thought. I am sure that you could not be less interested than hearing me reminisce on times long since past-” What? No- he liked it. It was so much more interesting than cofferdams and diversionary waterways. “-especially given your family’s history with mine.”

Oh.

Right.

They’d killed them. Boys not even grown.

(But it was _war_. The Senju had done things just as bad. Hadn’t they? Izuna was sure.

Somehow, that answer was becoming more and more hollow. An excuse. 

If his brother had been right all along, if peace really was possible, then what had all the killing been _for_?)

“It’s late,” The Senju said as he stood, “Well past midnight. I think I’ll go to bed.”

But he came around to Izuna instead of summoning a clone like usual. “Your readings look normal. I need to let my chakra reserves recover from today, but I’ll wake in four hours to check on you.”

That probably wasn’t necessary, but the Senju knew more about his condition than Izuna did, and it wasn’t like he had any way to protest.

(What had Tobirama so tired? Was it another transformer explosion, or working on the defenses, or rerouting the river for his reservoir or one of the dozen other disasters the Senju saw to on a daily basis? Izuna didn’t know, couldn’t ask, and it was _infuriating._)

As the other man left the room, Izuna couldn’t help but return to his thoughts from earlier as they swirled with his new, worse ones.

Where _was_ everyone?

Surely the Senju couldn’t be _this_ unpopular, ignored that he could spend months cramped up here with no one but _Izuna_ for company. Hashirama and Tobirama didn’t seem like best friends, not after what the younger had told him, but they were family and surely that counted for something. Where was that Senju woman, the one Hikaku always went toe to toe with, the only one who had ever come to Tobirama’s aid as he and Izuna fought?

That was yet _another_ weird thing. In their fights, bloodly, endless struggle to overcome each other, Izuna’s family, friends, comrades had all come to try and help him, but none of them could match Tobirama like he could, couldn’t really come close. Every time they had, they had ended up hurt or worse, dead. Finally, Izuna had put his foot down that Tobirama was _his_ opponent and no one else’s. That they were only making it worse by trying to interfere.

Other than the woman, who’d only done so once, Izuna couldn’t remember a single time another Senju had come to even try and assist Tobirama.

Or visit him here in his home.

Or even share a meal with him.

_Why?_

Like old men say, “eaten alone, even sea bream loses its flavor.” Izuna couldn’t see much of Tobirama’s life beyond these four walls, but he heard an awful lot.

It sounded so _lonely._

As if sensing his thoughts (or, more likely, because Tobirama had just left the room and it was unsupervised, the _asshole_) the damn cat jumped up to knead his chest and purr.

It was the _worst_.

-

In the seventy-eight years she had been alive, Noriko had seen five heads of the Senju Clan come and go. All were powerful, ambitious, and utterly flawed.

In the august and lofty summer of her youth, the Senju had been led to victory after victory by the mighty Hasegawa. It looked like he would finally fulfill the dream of him grandfather and make their clan the premier of the Fire country, and then the world.

But those victories faded like ash in the face of his indecisiveness. Hasegawa could _win_, but refused to push his exhausted troops to capitalize on their victories. They would take huge losses to win pitched battles, and he would let those losses paralyze him from chasing their defeated enemies into the ground, preferring to rest and regroup. He never learned that this allowed the enemy to do the same.

Noriko learned to always take advantage of those minor victories she could find. To never flinch from the cost of pushing forward to final victory, no matter how battered your own will was. 

Still, his reign was long, and prosperous, and he had left the Senju in a better position than he’d found it. The same could not be said of his heir. Arisugawa, his hotheaded son, was impetuous, impatient as a river, always rushing ahead with no thought of what was behind. At first, it seemed like a good thing, a bit of recklessness to counter his late father’s endless procrastination. 

But it was not so. Within five years, he had nearly lost all of the progress of his father with his rash, rush into ill-advised combat. Every brash decision ended with blood on Uchiha swords and more Senju in the ground.

Luckily for all of them (although, too late for many of her friends and for her husband, the only man she had ever loved), he had died young, crashed headlong into an Uchiha ambush.

The Senju Bull, they had called him. An apt name, as he had been both as strong and stupid as one. 

He had taught Noriko a brutal, bloody lesson in _patience_.

Yugarisuma, his son, and Noriko’s younger cousin, had only been sixteen when he took up the mantle. But he had carried it well. Never a fan of outward combat, the battlefield was always her cousin’s last resort. Instead, he worked in the shadows, as one of the most formidable shinobi of the age. For certainly, he was not the most skilled in any of the three foundations of shinobi skills. His taijutsu was passable, his ninjutsu limited. His best skill was genjutsu, and then only to disguise his presence.

But therein laid his greatest skill. He was never the Bull of his father. Instead, he bore the moniker ‘The Spider’, and he wove a brilliant, far reaching, _terrifying_ web that killed any opposition before it could reach them. 

Interiorly, however, his opposition had been much more dangerous. Having inherited many of his councilors from his father and grandfather, they had preferred a more… straightforward approach, and took his genius for cowardice. 

And that was where Noriko and her closest friends Omura and Mutsuhito had stepped in. They formed an inner circle, and had helped him mend his image among his own clansmen. Pushed him to take more drastic steps than he was always comfortable with that would have the proper returns for the life expended not in ground or power gained but in _reputation_. 

In the thirty-some years he had reigned over them, Noriko learned much, but the most useful, the most important, was that power lay in information, manipulation; that it was better to convince your enemy to destroy himself, or others to destroy him for you than risk a fight you might lose; how _any_ event could be turned to one’s own advantage with the right spin, and, lastly, that rumor killed more shinobi than any poison or steel combined. 

And Noriko was the best wisper-woman in the business.

Butsuma had been a good enough clan head to put the Uchiha truly, finally, on the ropes. He had strength not seen for generations, physically a force to be reckoned with, but also patient, and wise. He lacked Yugarisuma’s skill for foresight, but had not been hesitant in looking to his old advisers, Noriko included, for advice. And he had pushed, hard, relentless. So much so, he drove the Uchiha to more and more desperate measures. Things yet unseen. Squads of killers sent to kill their civilians, their defenseless friends, but worse, their children. 

That Butsuma himself had lost not one, but _two_ of his sons in his relentless bid for victory, and had still refused to give in had nearly brought them the final victory that would have ended the fighting forever. That unbending spirit outlived him in Omura. In Mutsuhito. In Noriko, who watched him, the brightest clan head in all her years, fall in flames at the height of his power, killed by cruel fate and a cancer he could not fight. 

And his son, the strongest shinobi the Senju had ever fielded, had _folded_. 

They had been so _close_. Generations of Senju clan heads, all the way back to the Sage, had done their duty by their family and to their creed. They had pushed their nindo to the forefront of the world. And it was all to be ruined by one deceitful, disloyal son, who would put his delusions of friendship with an _Uchiha_ above his duty to his family, a family who had lost countless members to put him in the position of power he so enjoyed.

Never had they been so betrayed. 

Loyalty to their clan head was written in their creed, in their blood, and on their very bones, but that all changed the day Hashirama had accepted the peace terms of monsters. For Noriko, there was no going back.

Evidently, Hashirama had learned nothing from the past, and Noriko knew better than to let him get away with it. To do so would be ruinous, not for herself, for she was old, and frail, and nothing was permanent for her anymore, but for the _family_. For their _legacy_. And so, Noriko would remind him of his failings.

And she had the perfect weapon with which to do so.

“Nephew! Come in,” her host chimed.

Tobirama stepped into his Aunt Niita’s tearoom. His shock at Noriko’s presence there was well disguised, but Noriko had been reading people for longer than he and the other woman in the room combined had been alive.

“Aunt Niita. Elder Noriko,” Tobirama greeted them with a bow. 

The smile Noriko gave him was benign. He looked tired.

Good.

“Tobirama-sama,” Noriko replied, nodding.

“Sit down, Tobira. Have some tea, dear. You look so pale,” Niita fretted, dragging her nephew to around their table.

“I always look pale,” he said, but sat down anyways.

Niita tittered at him and poured him some of the still steaming tea. Her hands fluttered, tremorous as she fed him a bowl of rice, some of the grilled mackerel, and the cucumber salad she had prepared for Noriko’s visit. Of course, Tobirama’s visit was a complete _surprise_. Noriko in no way knew that he was coming to see his fractured aunt this evening, hadn’t heard it from three of the spies she had watching the heir. 

It was a complete coincidence.

“I have heard you have been quite busy, Tobirama-sama. I hope your honored elder brother has not been pushing you too hard as of late,” said Noriko at a break in Niita’s fluttering, her voice reedy and thin through her equally thin-lipped smile.

Tobirama’s hand tightened nearly imperceptible on his teacup.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Perhaps not yet, anyway. 

“Tobirama, you should know better than to let your brother overwork you!” Niita protested, blissfully oblivious to the depth of Hashirama’s delusion as always.

“I am not overworked,” Tobirama lied. “There is simply much to do.”

“That’s true, I suppose,” Niita mumbled into her tea.

Noriko smiled wider.

“And yet you still have time to visit your beloved aunt. You are most dutiful,” Noriko commented.

And he was, much more so than his elder brother. He had the loyalty to _family_ they needed in a clan head. Noriko knew that as of now, that loyalty was still hopelessly, foolishly, vested in his brother, perhaps enough to be problematic to Noriko’s plans, but that could change. Be changed.

With the right push, she was certain he could be made to see that Hashirama’s replacement was not only necessary, but beneficial. To him, and to all of them. 

He just needed the right push. And Noriko would not flinch in giving it.

It was ever so convenient that the Uchiha idiots were helping her along. They would drive Tobirama away from this farce of a peace with their own petty sabotage, hide her own efforts neatly enough, and move things along so much more quickly than she could have hoped.

Everyone had their breaking point. Tobirama would reach his, and when he did, he would see his Anija’s betrayal for what it really was, and chose the _correct_ path.

It was only a matter of time.

“Thank you, Elder Noriko,” said Tobirama.

“You don’t have to look in on me all the time,” Niita protested, “I’m fine, and I know you are busy. Besides, there are others who visit,” she nodded to Noriko, who continued to smile at them, “and I am not so fragile that anyone need _worry_.”

Niita had never been a good liar. A trait she shared with her sister, who had passed it on to her second son. 

“Touka made me promise,” said second son replied.

Ah yes. Another of Noriko’s successes. She only had to set the whispers to saying Touka would support Tobirama over his elder brother, and just as she knew he would, Hashirama, the idiot, obliged Noriko and got Touka out of the way. Without her, Tobirama would be alone, and much easier to wear down.

By the look of him, it was already working. Noriko sipped her tea and set down the empty cup.

Niita refilled it as she shook her head. “I told her, I’m _fine_.”

No one believed her. She wasn’t fine, hadn’t been in years.

Another casualty that Hashirama so easily left behind. 

Noriko changed the subject. 

“I understand that Hashirama has placed you in charge of the defenses?”

He nodded, and diligently seized on the change of subject. Noriko listened with equal diligence to his plans for them and quietly, calmly, without any outward sign, thought on ways to get around them, ways to put their designer at fault. It would not be easy. Tobirama was as astute a strategist as any she had ever encountered. 

It was a good thing he was too guileless to apply it to the play of power. That would change, with age, and experience, as it had for Noriko. Until then, when he was finally a clan head they could _work with_, Noriko would do his scheming for him, until he learned to do it himself, hopefully before she passed on.

He would prove a better student than his brother at any rate.

Patience was no hardship, not when victory was so close at hand and only needed the perseverance to attain it. She would not hesitate, she would not rush, she would not only weave her webs but have the strength to act on them, as the leaders of the Senju had for generations. 

It was only a matter of time.

-

“What do you mean he only sent _you_?”

Tobirama had been on the road all day. The village to which he had been sent was deep in the old Senju lands, so not too far to travel in one day, but he hadn’t wanted to push himself so he would be fit and ready to carry out the mission as soon as he arrived, and so that he would arrive well after nightfall, which would aid in the operational security of his mission. 

It would have been nice, he thought wryly, if the mission could have waited until the dust of the village settled, but he recognized all the ways in which deferring missions until it had, was impossible. For one thing, Konoha needed the cash flow missions, and clients with them, brought in. For another, shinobi clans were integral to the economies that they were a part of, and had been since their inception. Surely, it had once been the daimyo’s responsibility to look after his subjects and the roads in the Land of Fire, but the power to muster even those defenses had waned with his authority until it had crumbled to almost nothing. Instead, the people looked instead to closer, more affordable alternative than the squeezing, desperate taxes the feudal lords demanded for their swords. 

The surrounding villages depended on shinobi for everything now, from gardening, to carrying mail, to babysitting, to protecting their store houses and trade routes against bandits and rogues. This last was perpetually necessary, particularly as civil war continued to destabilize the nation. 

If Konoha was to succeed, calls for aid from clients who had been loyal to the Senju for generations could not be ignored, not even the small ones all the way out on the coast, no matter how many duties Tobirama had to abandon. 

He still might’ve tried, if this one hadn’t requested him personally. 

Which was why the headman’s comment was confusing. 

“Hashirama-sama assigned me to this mission on your own request,” Tobirama said from where he knelt across the hearth of the headman’s house. 

“Y-yes, but-” the headman sputtered out, then cut himself off.

He shared a glance with his wife and the few councilors who had gathered at the headman’s house. Worried glances, furtive, even. 

This was, unfortunately, not unusual. Civilians had a limited understanding of how the shinobi did their work. 

“When your request reached us, we in Konohagakure did a thorough risk assessment based on the information you provided us. It was deemed that I would be more than enough to deal with your… problem.”

Perhaps an understatement given that a young farmer had had his legs broken for refusing to pay the gang who, in a fit of brilliant stupidity, decided that the Senju’s moving their clan less than a day’s travel farther away meant these people would be easy prey. 

Tobirama was not worried. He was sure he would be _more_ than sufficient. If Hashirama felt it beyond his ability, if he was even slightly in doubt, his brother would have assigned more shinobi than just himself as a show of the Senju, and now Konoha’s commitment to their former clients. He might’ve even sent them along if the task was well within Tobirama’s skillset, if only to foster the idea that other clans that were a part of Konoha could now be counted upon as well. 

The glances between these civilians didn’t stop, however. In fact, they seemed worse, perhaps even panicked.

Tobirama’s brow furrowed. He had been traveling for over fourteen hours, and still had reconnaissance to do before he could rest if he wanted to eradicate the gang of bandits in the early hours of the morning, while they were at their most unaware. 

He could admit that he was tired, and irritated about it. It had been a _long_ few months of running on half chakra, trying to get the new village up and then keep it afloat. Every single project was harder than it needed to be, fraught with unforeseen difficulties, half of which felt like deliberate acts of idiocy.

Not to mention every spare moment he had was spent trying to find something, anything to wake the still unresponsive Uchiha under his roof. 

Tobirama was well acquainted with stress, but he couldn’t think of another time when he’d been so exhausted.

He just wanted to get this mission over with. He had dozens of other things that need doing, that were just waiting for him, problems mounting as they were delayed, and this _civilian_ was wasting his time.

Something he had precious little of these days. Certainly too little to be wasted on civility.

“Unless, of course, there were details you neglected to mention?” he asked, icily. Civilians had a tendency to lie to shinobi, particularly when they wanted to lower the price. Senju clients rarely did so, but it was not unheard of. 

The headman flushed, puffed up like an offended peacock and said, “Of course not! It is simply, I would never doubt Tobirama-sama’s abilities,” _As well he shouldn’t._ “It’s jus-”

“Then we have nothing left to discuss. With your permission, Headman Eizou, I will get to work.”

“... Of course, Senju-sama,” the headman said, properly cowed as he bowed, signaling an end to this formality. 

Finally. 

Tobirama returned the man’s bow with a stone face, and stood, ignoring the slight ache in his overtired legs, and body flickered out the window for good measure. 

The bandits were easy enough to find, especially for a sensor of Tobirama’s calibre. They had hidden their camp well enough, in the forested hills that rose up behind the terraced rice fields of the town. The undergrowth had been allowed to run wild, creating choking brambles ten, fifteen feet high.

Idly, Tobirama noted that the pines were withering, starved of water and nutrients by their lower competition. Oaks, ferns, alder, and rhododendrons were pushing their way up in and around where dead trees, felled or lost to lightning or disease, had given them an opening. Likely, the village had over logged, pulling down too many trees and not putting the effort into forest management that they should. The regular burnings the Land of Fire was famous could be disastrous for the surrounding area in this state, rather than beneficial as it should be. Not the slow, controlled burn off that was necessary, but one that would rage and kill the very trees it was meant to foster with all of this uncleared fuel. 

He would have to mention it to the headman. It would be a simple enough mission for a team of Konoha shinobi. (He could think of a few Uchiha he would love to get out from underfoot. He’d never met an Uchiha who wasn’t obsessed with fire.) 

Besides, not only was this kind of ground cover irresponsible, it also gave his quarry the ability to hide.

Which was irritating, but not as vexing as his mind’s continual wandering.

Sighing heavily, Tobirama ran a hand over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, making himself breathe, calm down, _focus_. 

Below his perch in one of the healthier pines, a good thirty meters away, Tobirama felt his targets. They had, likely after a long night of drinking too much, settled in to sleep. Just as he’d predicted.

Tobirama judged the height of the moon, and his chakra levels. 

He should sleep. He had never been particularly good at realizing his limits, but he knew he was slowly reaching the end of his reserves. 

...Or he could just get it done with, and go home. Get to sleep in his own bed. 

He hadn’t planned to sleep. Now was the perfect time to strike, when the enemy was unaware and off their guard.

He counted fourteen rogues sleeping, with five more on guard around the perimeter. 

It should be easy enough for Tobirama to handle the ones sleeping without raising any alarm. Then he could take out the guards one at a time, working from the one whose chakra signature felt weakest, (and none of them felt at all like a shinobi) at his four o’clock, and working his way clockwise around the guards on duty, taking them out as silently as he could.

It should be doable. If he were caught out in the open, made a mistake… there were enough of them that they might give him problems. It was unlikely, but possible. He was rather significantly outnumbered.

Perhaps it _would_ be better to regroup, conduct more thorough reconnaissance to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. Recover some of his strength from the journey.

Then he remembered the faces of the villagers he had met with, huddled around a lonely hearth for fear of turning on the lights and drawing undue attention from their tormentors. Tormentors who were so close to under his sword. 

The villager who had been assaulted had a pregnant wife. Without the ability to work in the field, they would have no income. Worse, these men had robbed him of this spring’s harvest when they’d stolen his worldly possessions. That man, and the rest of the village, couldn’t afford for Tobirama to wait. 

Besides, the longer he dithered, the more likely it was that his presence would be detected.

So, tired as he was, he decided to move forward. Besides, so far everything was matching exactly to his mission scrolls specifications. He had no credible reason to believe that there was anything beyond this mission than exactly what was listed, incredulous looks from the villagers aside.

Not twenty minutes later, he was cursing his own hubris.

Sure, he had killed the sleeping men easily enough. Senbon had never been his best weapon, but the paralytics he’d coated them in made up for any foibles in his aim as he struck the sleeping men straight through their spinal chords. 

(Senbon were certainly not his specialty, but, _a great calligrapher does not need to choose his pens_, as his mother had told him as she corrected his hold on them, his fingers still maintaining the chubbiness of the toddler he was. They had been her favorites.)

He had even made it through most of the sentries with little trouble. One left, and he would be able to report back, a job well done. Perhaps he’d even have rested in the village before returning to Konoha, regained some of his lost sleep without five thousand things demanding his immediate attention.

The slightest shift in the air around him made his heart skip a beat. Training made him fling himself hard to the left. 

A masked shinobi melted out of the tree trunk Tobirama had been leaning on not half a second before, a kunai slicing through where his throat had been.

(There weren’t supposed to be any shinobi.)

Another presence pressed in from his right. Turning mid-fall, Tobirama drew his sword. He got it up just in time to block the short blade, a _tanto_, coming right towards him.

The kunoichi, a masked woman with bare arms showing the scars of a shinobi life, flipped out of the way of his parry. Tobirama barely managed to spin out of the way of _shuriken_barrage she sent in retreat.

Her partner barely let Tobirama’s feet touch the ground (crowded, claustrophobic with underbrush, not ideal for open combat) before the enemy sent an unnervingly competent _Katon: Endan_ flaming towards him.

Tobirama had mere seconds to get his hands together, but he was one of the fastest sealers on the continent, even with a sword in one hand. It was plenty of time.

_Dog. Rat. Snake._

Left foot behind. Right palm forward.

“_Suiton: Suihachi!_”

A massive jet of water streamed out of his hand, slamming into the incoming fireball with a burst of steam, but it didn’t stop there. After utterly overwhelming the fire, the torrent crashed into Tobirama’s original foe, knocking him from his perch. 

The kunoichi was there, on his left, in the instant his attention had drifted, but Tobirama brought up his own sword, catching hers. 

They clashed, steel on steel, once, twice. Three parries and counters too fast to see.

She was good, but Tobirama was better. He knocked her blade away, sliced open her thigh as he spun, foot heading for her masked face. 

The whites of her eyes were visible all the way around the iris as she brought up the arm not holding the sword in a desperate defense.

Tobirama felt the bones of her unarmored forearm give way beneath his strike, but her ally came to her aid before he could land a finishing blow, sending a handful of kunai at Tobirama, most of which he knocked away easily. The others he dodged. Or so he thought.

He caught sight of the wire attached to them nearly a moment too late. Fire licked down the wire from the enemy, who had apparently recovered from his shower no worse for wear, more’s the pity. 

The underbrush would make dodging the ensnaring wires difficult, so Tobirama lept up into the trees, throwing three kunai, each with a _hiraishin_ seal etched into their handles, to the trunks of other trees. 

“Naoyuki!” the male shinobi said as he came down beside where Tobirama had left her kneeling, cradling her clearly broken arm. He laid a protective arm over her shoulder, taking her, literally, under his wing.

(Easy enough to exploit.)

The man, barely more than a boy, and with all of the impertinence of youth, looked up to Tobirama and shouted, “You bastard!”

He realized too late that the Tobirama he was shouting at was not real. That the real one had appeared on a tree branch behind him. 

_“Katon: Hōsenka no Jutsu.”_

The multitude of small fireballs Tobirama managed to produce were but a poor facsimile of the ones Izuna would regularly send his way, but their irregular movements, controllable like a puppet on strings with Tobirama’s excellent chakra control, made the pair below him dance instead. 

The man was trying to drag the woman out of the way with him.

That wouldn’t do. Tobirama aimed one of the remaining balls of flame towards where their hands were linked, and another straight towards their faces.

Just as Tobirama knew he would, the man looked to the woman, anguished. And let her go.

Tobirama’s _hiraishin kunai_ buried itself to the hilt in her back. She didn’t even have a moment to scream before Tobirama’s sword, solid Uchiha steel he’d stolen off of his little brother’s murderers, went right through her spinal cord. 

She died without a sound.

Her partner _wailed_, and charged with all the intellect of a rabid boar.

Fueled by loss and rage, the other shinobi didn’t give an inch. He was _good_, far better than he should have been on a mission where he wasn’t even supposed to be here, and Tobirama was quickly becoming exhausted. 

In the end, though, it was a foregone conclusion. Tobirama had survived a war with the Uchiha, had begun training in the ninja arts before he could reliably walk. On a different day, at his best, Tobirama would have utterly destroyed this upstart in seconds.

Here and now, it took minutes, but the result was the same. Tobirama saw his opening, and he took it. 

With the precision of years of agonizing practise, Tobirama ducked the man’s wild swing for his neck, and thrust his own sword forward. The man tried to spin, tried to get out of the way, but he was too slow for even Tobirama’s shaking hands.

Knowing he’d hit his target, Tobirama retreated to the safety of the trees once more. 

The enemy ninja pulled down his face mask, eyes glazing as he brought a hand up to his severed carotid. 

He staggered once. Again.

Then he turned, and walked back to his felled partner. His knees sunk into the dirt beside her has he laid a bloody hand on her cheek, and tried to pull down her mask, but his fingers were losing feeling as his lifeblood left him.

“Why?” the shinobi asked, “Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?”

Tobirama tilted his head at the dying man.

“The way you ‘left alone’ the farmer and his wife? The Village of Makkari?” Tobirama asked in return.

“Heh,” the enemy huffed a wet laugh, “You Senju. Self-righteous to the end. You never know… what it really means… to suffer.”

He fell forward, unconscious, dead on his murderous lover. 

Tobirama very carefully didn’t roll his eyes.

And then he staggered, leaned against the tree branch with more than a little relief. 

Not resting had been careless. He could see that now, as his sweat slipped into a cut he hadn’t even noticed getting on his bicep. He hoped it wasn’t poisoned. It would serve him right if it was. 

He was exhausted. But he wasn’t done yet.

It didn’t occur to him until later, until he’d knocked out the last of the sentries, who had somehow managed to _not notice_ the fully fledged shinobi fight on his flank, and delivered him to the people of Makkari for justice, so that anyone who needed reminding what happened to those who hurt those under the protection of the Senju would be _thoroughly_ reminded, how odd the whole thing was.

There was no mention of the bandits having _any_ shinobi in their number. The mission had been for low level rogues, hardly a threat, even in their numbers. 

But clearly the headman had known, had even tried to warn Tobirama (who had been too blinded by arrogance to listen, a mistake he vowed to never make again). The pair of rogue shinobi must have featured in their request to Konohagakure, but…

If Hashirama had known about the shinobi, in combination with the estimated numbers of foes, he would have sent more shinobi than just Tobirama to handle it. Tobirama was certain. Even though he could and _did_ handle it, rogue shinobi were wild cards, and it was always standard to err on the side of caution

Especially since if Tobirama had been a hair slower, the male’s first assault might have killed him. He hadn’t even been looking for genjutsu, and the other man’s had been _excellent_ to fool his sensing. If Tobirama had been slightly more tired, slightly less aware, he might not have been alive to make it home at all.

So, why had he been sent alone? The headman had been surprised at his lack of support, so him being requested to deal with it alone was clearly not part of the arrangement the client had struck with the mission couriers. 

And if the error wasn’t on the client’s end, it must have been on the Village’s. 

Tobirama was not an overly suspicious man. Paranoia in a warzone was a good way to end up cracked. 

However… there were only so many coincidences that he could accept. 

Touka was fond of saying, “Once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, and three times in enemy action,” but Tobirama could think of well over half a dozen things in the last weeks that had gone _wrong_. From his paperwork mysteriously going missing, to cave-ins in supposedly stable tunnels, to cracks that should not be in just finished dams, the transformer explosion. Now this. A clear escalation. 

Or a simple clerical error. One of many lost in the chaos of the village founding. 

Or incompetence on the part of the reconnaissance team. Always an annoying possibility, and one that bore looking into (if Tobirama could ever find the time).

_Or sabotage_, his mind whispered.

Tobirama rubbed his aching eyes. He was too tired for this. He would just have to put it all in his mission report and let Hashirama figure it out. 

After all, it was hardly his place to question his elder brother’s judgment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!
> 
> I hope you like this chapter and that it was worth the silly-long wait. Who knew having a full time job takes up so much of your time lol. 
> 
> Anyways, the plot thickens. Huge shout out to LostInThePines. She is the only reason this got posted today, and I love her bunches. Please leave me a comment if you would like, because I gobble them up like the greedy little glutton I am. Or kudos. I love them too.
> 
> Love you!
> 
> P.S.
> 
> OMG SOMEONE LOVELY MADE ME [ART](https://moooooiste.tumblr.com/post/188857206514/count-your-blessings-ch5-by-madmothmadame)! SHOUT OUT TO MO! Darling, your art is wonderful. EVERYONE SHOULD DEFINITELY GO LOOK and give them a follow <3


	6. Chapter 6

“Damn it!”

The outburst was followed by the harsh shuffle of papers being shoved away.

Izuna could hear Tobirama’s furious heavy breathing as the Senju tried to rein in his temper, could feel the crackle and crash of the Senju’s chakra raging, like a tidal wave on rocks. The cat that had been resting on Izuna's chest catapulted off it, and he could hear it yowl as it scuttled out of the room.

If he could have, Izuna would have winced. 

Months of being here, of living in Tobirama’s company, had mostly cured him of his fear of the other man, even when he was angry.

Tobirama had never hurt him, not here, not in anyway not relating to trying to cure him of whatever was wrong with him. And Izuna, by now, had come to believe, that he _wouldn’t_. 

Even so, he had never felt the Senju so tumultuous. Like the sea in a storm, when the wind can’t decide which way to blow, tries to rip you apart.

The Senju had always been that way. Serene and powerful, but perilous, capable of crippling the hubris of any man, even Izuna. Whether it was his intellect or his prowess, only a fool would underestimate him. 

But as uncomfortable as it felt, it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable it should have been. Izuna _knew_ Tobirama’s wrath. Knew how it should feel to be in a confined space with the enraged and frustrated Senju, and this wasn’t it.

His rival felt diminished. And that was… not good.

It was very late in the evening if Izuna’s had to guess.

The proceeding hour had been very uncomfortable. Tobirama had been trying to wake him. Again. He’d tried drug concoctions before, but this most recent one had set Izuna’s heart racing, made him sweat profusely, and sent a bit of an ache, more like a tingling itch or something from his muscles convulsing and really _wanting_ to move. 

But he was utterly unable to so much as flinch.

While Izuna was caught in this acute agony, and unable to move or relieve it in any way, Tobirama was there, with his hands on Izuna’s chest, searching for any change, using that weird healing technique that made Izuna feel totally immersed in the other man’s chakra. Apparently, it let the other man monitor Izuna’s vitals and interior functioning, which months ago had felt like a gross invasion of privacy. Now, after said months of it being a prevalent facet of his reality, it had become annoyingly reassuring. Like being cradled, floating, and soothing, gentle waves splashing over his ankles, his chest, his still beating heart. 

Izuna was getting better at admitting that he didn’t totally hate the feeling. But it was hard to remember at a time like this.

The Senju had spent quite some time explaining to Izuna exactly what was in the latest concoction; what all of the ingredients were meant to do, how long they would wait to see its effect; but to be honest, Izuna had stopped listening by then.

He didn’t care what it was, what it did. He just wanted it to work. 

But it hadn’t. 

The Senju wasn’t the only one who was frustrated. 

The stifling agony of needing to move and not being able to only lasted for a little while, he thought. It was hard to tell time like this. Izuna regularly lost days, hours, it was all still blurry sometimes, but if he had to guess, Tobirama only left him suffering for a half-hour or so before injecting him with the remedy. 

It had clearly failed. 

Now, Izuna’s Senju physician was back to the drawing board. And making no progress from the sounds of it. 

But that wasn’t the only thing worrying Izuna. 

Something was wrong with his Senju. Really wrong.

From the stiffness he’d heard in the other man’s gate, he would guess that Tobirama’s bruised ribs hadn’t healed from his last mission, though, the Senju had otherwise made it back seeming to be no worse for wear.

But from what Tobirama had shared about his missions, which were increasing in both frequency and danger, Izuna was becoming increasingly worried. 

Recently, Tobirama’s missions had been going dangerously wrong; unexpected rogues on one, missing contacts, intel badly out of date or missions misassigned falling onto his rival’s already overfilled plate. He’d be sent out on a mission that seemed normal, went wrong, and was sent out again less than two days later by one that went _worse_

It was clear he was exhausted. 

(But still, _still_ he woke up every night, halfway through his sleep cycle to check on Izuna.) 

He didn’t say as much, didn’t even mention it, but it was becoming more and more obvious, even to Izuna. Everything from the way the other man walked, to how he spoke to, to how he cancelled the clones every evening now, choosing to work himself in Izuna’s room, or sleep there rather than relying on a clone the way he had at the beginning of the village’s founding.

But it turned out that all of that cloning the other man had been doing came at a significant price. _Half_ his chakra. Every time he summoned one. 

Which he had done so. For days on end, months even. For _Izuna_.

It wasn’t just the clones. Izuna had realized that making them required a good amount of Tobirama’s chakra, but it combined with his clear lack of sleep (which was sure to wear down anyone, even a shinobi as formidable as Tobirama) made Tobirama’s recovery slower than usual; and a compounding problem at that. The less sleep Tobirama got, the less chakra he recovered, the less energy he had, and the more sleep he needed. 

Izuna had reconciled with himself that Tobirama was his best chance for survival. That was made clear by the literal _hundreds_ of remedies the other man had tried, and failed, to wake him with. Izuna knew, without a doubt, that Tobirama was doing everything he could to wake him, and quickly. 

Over the last few months, it had become clear that Tobirama was a genius. Not in the same way as Madara, not as in physical prowess (although he was certainly impressive in that area as well), but in his sheer knowledge base. He was a true researcher, could spend just an hour looking over treatises on topics Izuna couldn’t hope to decipher in a hundred years, mainly due to the sheer boredom involved, but then understand them. Not in a passing way, but thoroughly, enough so that Izuna could _also_ understand them.

He must have read every text in the Land of Fire pertaining to Izuna’s condition, even with as busy as he clearly, maybe even dangerously, was. 

And had come up empty. 

Izuna really, _really_, wanted to wake up. Obviously. But he couldn’t help but feel that after months of waiting, both he _and_ Tobirama were running out of time.

And options, if the Senju’s increasing frustration was any indication, for how to do it were dwindling.

Izuna was trying not to panic about it. 

There was nothing he could do. His entire fate was in the hands of a man who was once his mortal enemy.

There was a terrible irony that it took the other man trying _everything_, of coming to the very end of his skills for Izuna to admit, even if just to himself, that there wasn’t anyone, not even his brother, that he would trust more to find a solution. 

The exhale Tobirama made across the room was shaky and tired.

“I apologize, Uchiha. I had thought that waking you would be relatively easy in comparison to saving your life. Whatever it is that afflicts you may be beyond me.”

_No. Please don’t say that._

“I am unsure how much longer I can justify my current course of action. At what point will this become inhumane, if it is not already.”

_It isn’t. Don’t give up._

“As it is, I cannot gain any kind of consent.”

_You have it!_

“It is possible that the… emotional feedback I have,” (the Senju was struggling with words. It was so unlike him and Izuna was _worried_) “… sensed from you were not, in fact, an aspect of my sensor type, but instead a psychosomatic reaction to my own _wish_ for you to still be alive and conscious-”

_What? No! I’m here. Don’t-_

“-and that I am instead soliciting to an empty shell, defiling a _corpse_.”

The silence was as shattering as a blow. It wasn’t-

Izuna was _here_. How could Tobirama doubt it? He read Izuna’s every thought.

(And what did he care if he _was_ rifling through a dead man’s bones? They were shinobi, prone to clan warfare where the very genetics of the other side could turn the tide. Among the Uchiha, the corpses of their enemies were studied, ripped apart, examined for any advantage.

It was what he _thought_ the Senju had planned for him.)

“My father feared what lengths my obsession with death would bring me to.”

Oh.

When he was far too tired, and Izuna was _anxious_ for one of a thousand reasons that perpetually plagued him when Tobirama had finally returned from yet day, another mission, gone wrong, the Senju had spoken of his mother, a woman he’d adored, but lost too soon. (Another way in which they were similar...) Of Hashirama, often, with admiration and frustration in equal measure. Occasionally, when he was _very_ tired, or careless, of his lost brothers, children who, it seemed from what little Izuna could ferret out, he had raised in place of the parents they should have had. 

(Duty had a way of consuming parents, especially parents who were responsible for an entire clan above just their children. Izuna had faced it too. It didn’t make it easier.)

But never his father. Never the mighty Butsuma, whom Izuna would have guessed would have been Tobirama’s _hero_. (Everyone knew how Tobirama emulated the dead man, was his pride.)

That was before he knew his rival. Now, he knew enough to know all the ways in which the Senju would have, must have, abhorred his father.

It was, after all, their father who had sent his younger brothers to their death.

“Hashirama too. He knows, better than anyone, _exactly_ how far I am willing to go. Perhaps he is right to fear. I just-”

He paused. Izuna waited on baited breath, desperate to hear what the other man would say. So that he could finally _know_.

After a sigh, Tobirama stood, and went to leave- _No. Wait. Please don’t go. You can’t just leave. You can’t just quit-_ but the other man paused in the doorway, and Izuna felt Tobirama look back to him.

“I wonder, Izuna, if there is anything _you_ wouldn’t do to see your brother again.”

-

Toji ran a small dango shop on the main street of the Uchihas district. It was a busy spot, more so now that things were up and running properly. His mother had despaired of him. She’d wanted him to be a shinobi, like his father, and his father’s father before him, but Toji had never cared about anything but making the perfect, flawless dango. 

And now, he made the best dango in the business.

“Ah, Kagami-kun! Welcome in,” he greeted one of his best customers.

“Hi Toji-san!” the little hurricane came skipping under the _noren_. 

The little boy came over to the glass display case and gasped, pressing both his hands and his face up to it, leaving a great smudge.

Toji didn’t mind. He was just glad that someone else appreciated the art that was his delicious confectionaries. 

Besides, people were too hard on the young boy. Sure, Kagami was… energetic, but he was a good lad. After all, he liked dango. That made him alright in Toji’s book.

As if to prove it, the young boy’s eyes grew to saucers at the display

“Awwweeesssooome,” Kagami said. “Your dango is always so amazing, Toji-san!”

“Well, thank you!” Toji said, hands on his hips as he huffed out a belly laugh. “Now! What will it be today?”

“Hmm,” the boy thought hard enough that his tongue poked out at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know, Toji-san, what do you think Tobi-san would like?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Toji said, “Who is Tobi-san?”

Kagami beamed up at him. 

Then he took a very deep breath.

“My friend! Do you think he’d like _botchan_, because I like _botchan_ because it’s so colorful and you get bits of everything, but Tobi-san’s kinda plain, but in like a super nice way, so maybe he’d like some _anko_ because that is nice and simple and delicious but then he could eat it for lunch, but I was kind of thinking of getting it for him as a snack so maybe something sweet like _chichi_, but I don’t know if he even likes sweets so maybe I’ll get some of that for me and some _anko_ for him or maybe something even sweeter, because your _mitarashi_ is the _best_ and OH some _teppanyaki_. Everyone loves your _teppanyaki_ so maybe that-”

Toji laughed again, and it made Kagami, finally, pause to breathe. The young boy giggled back, and scratched the back of his head as he grinned, showing off the gap in his teeth. 

“Slow down, little one. I’m sure your friend will like whatever you bring him. After all, it is the thought that counts.”

“Yeah, you’re right Toji-san. Hmm…”

Kagami bit his tongue and leaned in, thinking hard. 

Toji felt for him, and after letting the boy mumble to himself thoughtfully for a bit, he suggested a variety box. Kagami only had money for a half dozen, but Toji gave him a full one.

“A gift for your new friend,” he said, and handed over the perfectly wrapped box of delicious dango over into the tiny hands. “Just make sure to let him know where it came from!” 

“Thank you, Toji-san!” Kagami said, waved, and bolted away.

Toji waved back as the boy disappeared out of sight. Vaguely, he wondered who the boy’s friend could be. He couldn’t think of any other Uchiha children with the name “Tobi” in any variant, but then, it was a new world, with new rules. Kagami’s new friend could be from any clan. 

Oh, well. Toji just decided to be grateful the boy had made one at all. Everyone was much too hard on the little boy, in Toji’s opinion. 

-

Saiyuri watched her son shovel down his rice, in a rush to get out of the house, as was the norm nearly every day over the last few weeks, and decided not to ask. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. She loved him, but honestly, that he hadn’t been dragged back to her by his ear in over a month could only be considered a blessing, and she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He even put his dishes in the sink when he finished. A marked improvement.

When he waved goodbye for the day, already babbling about everything he was going to do with Tobi-san for the rest of the day, Saiyuri very carefully didn’t ask who that was, just promised to remember her son’s new mystery friend in her prayers.

She sagged as the door slammed closed and put her head down on her folded arms with a small smile.

Finally, a moment’s peace. 

-

In Umura’s personal opinion, Konoha was a very nice town indeed. It had a plaza, brightly painted buildings, and excellent security, but best of all, it was full of shinobi. Lots of them. From all over. And that meant business. A lot of business. All together in one place. 

For a simple explosive seals pedaller from the Land of Wave, yes, Konohagakure was shaping up to be a very nice place indeed. 

In fact, it was so nice, that Umura found himself taking a stroll in the evening air to take in the sights. There was so much happening. Even now, after dark, there were construction crews working, restaurants and cafes still open to the public, even a few musicians and dancers playing for change on the corners. 

A city alive. Umura hadn’t seen such life in a place since the last time he visited the Capital. And, he had coin in his pocket to celebrate it.

All in all, a very good night. 

So, he wandered, and let himself get lost, snagging a yakitori along the way to cure his slight hunger as he let himself enjoy the evening.

He supposed he could be forgiven, what with being new to the city and all, for wandering off the main roads, out through the winding streets, to find a nice spot by the river banks, newly paved and populated with lights on strings, families, and couples. 

Down the road, up the river a bit, was a half built bridge, still supported by scaffolding, but it would be lovely as the rest of the town when it was finished, if Umura was to guess. On the other side of it, nothing. Just the giant forest that surrounded the rest of the city.

Umura sat, enjoying his skewer, watching fireflies dance along the riverbank as he thought about how to spend the rest of such an auspicious evening. 

Maybe find some company? He thought, thinking back to the other couples he’d seen. 

He didn’t give it much thought, when he saw a tall, white haired shinobi in blue, appear out of the forest with a young boy with black curly hair on his shoulders. He hadn’t been surprised; the little boy’s chatter could easily be heard across the quiet babbling of the river long before they actually appeared.

He couldn’t have been expected to know that the patience with which the man listened to the boy, answering endless questions in a low, indulgent tone, should have been surprising. 

That even the sight of the two of them together would have brought any local pause.

Instead, they disappeared from his attention as soon as they were out of view, just another set of souls out here enjoying the night. 

-

Tsubame thought that she must be one of a handful of Uchiha who actually liked her young cousin Kagami. 

What could she say? The little guy was a cutie.

And always, _always_, getting into trouble. It was endearing, in its own way.

She wasn’t sure if it was that she was a woman, one of very few kunoichi among the Uchiha, but whenever the children of the clan got in trouble, Uncle Ichika would send _her_ after them.

Apparently, even as a shinobi she was supposed to be ‘mothering’. 

Horse shit, in her opinion. She was easily one of the best sharingan users in the entire clan and could even beat Hikaku when it came to pure speed. Sexist. Horse shit. 

However, she could admit (to herself only) that she didn’t mind so much when it was Kagami. At least the trouble he managed to get into was interesting.

But he hadn’t been in any. In weeks. Which was more than enough to make her suspicious. 

She wondered if it had anything to do with this mysterious “Tobi” that he had apparently made friends with. At first, Tsubame had been sure that “Tobi” was made up, an imaginary friend. She couldn’t really imagine that anyone would willingly spend many hours with the boy. Don’t get her wrong, she liked the kid, but in small doses. 

And then weeks had gone by, and “Tobi-kun” was still around as the boys excuse to disappear for hours. 

So, one day, when she wasn’t busy with missions and trying to avoid Kenichi (asshole couldn’t take a hint. How many times did she have to say that she wasn’t interested before it would be appropriate to break his wandering hand?) and she saw the little boy run passed her, out of the Uchiha district, and down the street, she decided to let curiosity get the better of her and followed him. 

She honestly could not think of anything, not a single thing, that would have surprised her more. 

“Tobi-kun” was indeed a real person. In fact, he was apparently Senju Tobirama.

Of her entire family, Tsubame could admit to being one of only a handful that didn’t particularly mind the Senju. Sure, he was an asshole, but he was no more _or_ less of an asshole to her because she was a woman. It was a refreshing change to see someone who appeared to genuinely not care at all about it. After all, he was friends with Touka, who was easily Tsubame’s favorite Senju.

She was never one to hold onto bygones. And Tobirama worked hard and got things done. That was enough to set him firmly in her indifference.

Even with that though, she would never have expected to witness the scene she had through the Senju’s office widow. One of him inviting in Kagami. Of the little boy making himself at home on the Senju’s desk as the other man actually accepted his presence with a smile. A _smile_.

From Senju Tobirama.

She should have stopped watching, should maybe have gone to tell someone or something, but then it got even weirder.

“Are you sure you have to go?” Kagami whined at him, "You just got back..."

Tobirama sighed.

“We’ve been through this.”

“I know,” the boy answered, still whinging, “but can’t someone else go?”

Tobirama put down his pen. 

“Kagami, listen to me,” he said, and waited for the boy, pouting, to look up at him. It took a long time, Kagami was notoriously stubborn, but the Senju was patient. When Kagami finally met his eye, Tobirama said, “Missions like this are of the highest importance. Do you know why?”

“Because they are in the service of the village.”

“That’s correct, but do you know why else?”

Kagami shook his head, and Tsubame had to strain her ears to hear what he said from her place on the opposite roof. 

“Not only is it in service of the village, but missions like this one, specifically will help _protect_ this village. Our home,” he said, and rested a pale hand on the boy’s shoulder before he finished, saying, “And the people in it.”

The heavy look in his eye must have conveyed to Kagami exactly who he meant, even though Tsubame couldn’t see it. She just knew. Especially, when the little boy, so regularly ignored, pushed aside and shunned by his own family for his exuberance, lunged at the Senju, wrapping his tiny little arms around the man’s neck, and holding on tight.

And Senju Tobirama actually hugged him back

“I’ll miss you,” Kagami said.

“I know,” the Ghost said, and then let go.

“Promise you’ll be careful?” Kagami demanded, and Tsubame would have laughed if she weren’t too busy trying to wrap her head around what she was seeing. What could hurt the Ghost, after all?

“Only if you promise to be good,” Tobirama replied, and it was official. She had fallen into a parallel universe. She would have to give up ninjutsu and retire to become a hermit.

At least Kagami’s unrepentant grin was the same as usual, even if it made _Senju Tobirama_ huff a laugh.

“Now, it’s getting late. You are due back for supper and I have a mission to prepare for,” he said as he stood and offered Kagami a hand off the desk. As he walked Kagami to the door, he said, “Be sure to keep up on your readings while I am gone. I will see you when I return.”

Before he could succeed in shuffling the boy out of his office, Kagami spun around and hugged him one more time around his legs. 

The words were almost entirely muffled in Tobirama’s legs, Tsubame could just barely hear them. She thought the little scamp muttered something like, “Be careful, _shishou_.” 

The way he shouted “GOOD NIGHT!” as he ran out the door required no straining to hear. 

Tobirama shut the door and turned back to his desk, but didn’t walk to it. Instead, his eyes met Tsubame’s, showing zero surprise at finding her there.

Oh. Right. Sensor. Tsubame felt at once like the biggest idiot on the planet and also afraid, momentarily, for her life.

But the Senju didn’t do anything. Not physically. Just waited.

Waited for her to decide what to do. She _should_ tell someone, she realized. If her family knew that Kagami’s “Tobi-kun” was actually Senju Tobirama, then they would make absolutely certain that the two of them would never see each other again.

Tsubame got it. The Senju was terrifying. But so was Tsubame, when she wanted to be. And she was really not one to judge. 

Besides, the more she thought about it, the more hilarious it was.

Senju Tobirama. The Ghost. Monster of the Senju and Terror to the Uchiha. 

Kagami’s best friend.

Oh. Gods.

Tsubame couldn’t help the grin that curled underneath her mask. She raised two fingers to her forehead and saluted the Senju. 

He nodded.

Message sent and received, Tsubame disappeared in a swirl of leaves, appearing a few streets over to make her own way home.

When people, other people, found out, she would be ready to watch.

It was going to be _hilarious_.

-

The blades of grass were damp with early morning dew as they bent under Tobirama’s palm, the wet seeping through the thick fabric on his knees. His carmine eyes were closed. 

To his left, a thrush whistled and chimed, calling to the dawn just over the horizon. 

He breathed. 

Tobirama was cautious by nature. His sensing range was reputed to be the largest and most perceptive in the Land of Fire, but he never, _ever_ assumed that was the truth. Rather, he considered himself fortunate that he had yet to meet a better sensor than himself. That, and he was never the type to rush into anything, even something supposedly simple, as this latest mission was supposed to be.

If anything, his recent stretch of ill-fated missions merited such caution. 

So, here he was, miles from his objective, feeling ahead, farther, and father, until the people, bodies surrounding his goal, some just beginning to stir, but most still dead to the world before the dawn, formed in his mind’s eye.

Deep breaths. 

Focus.

_There._

Movement, a hushed signal, hand flashing in signs Tobirama didn’t recognize. People moved, shift change. The watch was moving, the enemy eyes on his target melting out from their genjutsus before being quickly replaced.

Tobirama ground his teeth in frustration and pulled away, back to himself. 

This was supposed to be a dead drop. The Uchiha’s spy had been in place for a decade, his correspondence with his masters _supposedly_ secret. 

But his drop site, the one that Tobirama had orders to retrieve intel from, had clearly been compromised. And was being watched. Carefully.

This was supposed to be a simple mission, but this was going to be exponentially more difficult than anticipated, something that was becoming more and more of a theme of late. 

Initially, Tobirama had chalked this trend up to nothing more than the natural kinks of integrating new information systems, and the difficulties in reconciling the differing methods and abilities of all of the uniting clans into something cohesive; ultimately, something everyone was experiencing equally, and would die down as things settled.

But if his missions were going so poorly, he dreaded to think how many other shinobi, less able than he, were dying on missions for their new village because the intelligence was poor. 

Even a small fraction was unacceptable, especially so early on. If shinobi couldn’t trust the village to send them on missions where they had a chance to succeed….

However, after a thorough investigation, done quietly so as to not raise alarm, he had found that this assumption - that everyone was experiencing the same kinds of issues - was false.

Tobirama wasn’t sure he should be relieved when it became clear that it was his missions alone which were accruing most of the... misfortunes and mishaps. On the one hand, he was confident in his own abilities. If one of their shinobi was to encounter such trouble, he would rather it be him than wish it on someone else. Further, he could, in some ways, understand the animosity the Uchiha had for him. He could be reasonably certain that at least some of his… complications originated with them, though he knew better than to accuse them outright without solid evidence.

Which lead to the other complication: thus far, none of his mission reports - with their concerted sabotage - had merited a response from his Anija. Of any kind, as far as he could tell.

It really wasn’t his place to make noise about it. He had mentioned, in passing, during his debriefs in person with Hashirama, that his mission had been unusually difficult, but his elder brother was not particularly interested in hearing what Tobirama had to tell him. He hadn't been for a while now..

Tobirama had known his brother his entire life, and he _knew_ when his brother was receptive to what Tobirama was telling him. And when he was not.

_“I trust you to handle this, Tobirama. Nothing can be allowed to compromise the peace.”_

So now, Tobirama could admit to being at a loss. He wasn't sure exactly when or how he had lost his Anija's trust; he was beginning to wonder (not for the first time) if he'd ever had it. 

Either way, for now at least, he was unlikely to find any quarter there. The best he could do was be vigilant and hope for no more surprises.

Like the one he was facing now.

Tobirama didn’t want to call it sabotage. Sabotage had far reaching consequences that their fledgling village could ill afford. 

It was equally possible that his ill-luck was a streak of misfortune. Things would be much easier if it were. Luck was fickle to every man. Preparation and good planning can solve many problems, but few plans survive contact with the enemy. Tobirama knew this. 

He also knew the odds of all of his recent misfortune originating from one source was equally as unlikely as it being unintentional. If he discredited misfortune, even just to himself, as the primary cause of his recent troubles, then he would also have to reconcile himself with the possibility that the movement (sabotage) against him was beyond his ability to contain.

But it shouldn't be beyond his brother's, which begged to question why Hashirama hadn't acted yet? 

His brother’s sanction was a key influence to Tobirama's hesitancy at naming the series of unfortunate events as a concerted effort to sabotage him. If Tobirama admitted his brother knew about it, then he might also have to consider the possibility that it had his brother's blessing.

Peace with Uchiha, and with the rest of the land of Fire was paramount. His brother had made that clear. 

But at what cost? Their family? His own brother?

In reality, Tobirama already knew the answer. He wasn't sure he would even blame Hashirama for his resilience. 

For Tobirama could see, equally, what the village was becoming. What it had the potential to become. Something that could provide safety, stability, and peace to countless generations, something Tobirama was only just beginning to hope was possible at all.

He would not blame his Anija for a willingness to do _anything_ to protect it; even turn a blind eye to the string of misfortune his brother faced. If he came out alive, what did it matter?

If fact, it was a viewpoint that Tobirama was quickly coming to share. Especially, since he was still reasonably sure that he could handle whatever this world threw at him, as he had thus far. Perhaps it was hubris or another vice he would not name, but regardless, he had no fear of death. Not really. 

That did not mean he had any intention of going quietly into the night. The shinobi he had felt ahead were high level. Were he not a sensor, and had he not put such effort into looking ahead, he might have walked into a fight he couldn't win unprepared.

But he was, and he hadn’t.

Taking a final deep breath, Tobirama dismissed all such irrelevant thoughts. Pulling out a kunai with his _hiraishin_ seal etched into the handle, he spun it around on his finger once, twice, three times and planned his approach. His chakra had recovered to the highest level it had been in weeks. Before the village founding, he would not have thought of travel as particularly restful, and he was still uncertain of the effects leaving a clone unattended for so long might have, but needs must. He supposed he would just have to find out.

In the meantime, he had work to do. 

-

Tanuri was a nice enough town. It mostly functioned as a last stop on the way to the Land of Fire’s capital city. It had a few hotels, some taverns, even a bath house. They had their share of industrious farmers and merchants who plied their trades in the Capital, and a small shine to their local deity. 

It was small, quaint, and ever so _boring_.

They had been here for _weeks_. 

Ryota was, by this point, summarily unimpressed with this particular mission. 

So far, the spy that their _own_ spy in the capital had sniffed out had only sent encoded messages (which the Hyuuga code breakers were _still_ trying to crack, but more was more when it came to code cracking), but it wasn’t like anything interesting was coming _out_ of the Capital.

The only interesting info was coming _into_ the Capital. Specifically from the new Village that was the cause of Ryota’s current mind numbing state.

It should have been the most dramatic chapter of Ryota’s life. The Uchiha and the Senju had finally made peace between them. Or at least an alliance of sorts. Ryota had his doubts.

Either way, it was proving to be the most serious threat the Hyuuga had ever faced. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, where Ryota could really have his chance to prove his loyalty and skill to the Main Branch, to Hanami-sama. 

The fighting between the clans had been deadlocked his entire childhood, most of his adult life as well, but finally, _finally_, things were moving, pieces that had been stationary, ground to a halt by generations of bloodshed, wary from upsetting the delicate balance of power that had been kept, had been irrevocably shifted. As long as the Senju and the Uchiha were busy fighting each other, there wasn’t much the other clans, Hyuuga included, could do but wait and see, and incite them to fight to keep them occupied and out of Hyuuga affairs. 

His family was ancient and proud. Their bloodline was the most formidable, descendents from the Sage of Six Paths himself, or so the legend went, and their clan’s hidden technique was second to none.

But the Uchiha had the numbers, and stood between the Hyuuga’s home territory in the north and the Capital. While the Senju drew the Uchiha attention to the south, the Hyuuga had been given time to regroup and refortify. 

Most felt that the peace the two had made would prove irrelevant in the long run. It wouldn’t last. Obviously. If anything, Ryota and his team’s time out here had proved that. Five weeks, thirteen pickups, and the only ones who had come for the information drops of the _Uchiha’s_ spy (a handmaid to the Daimyo’s wife. Ryota didn’t know how they’d managed that) were other Uchiha. 

Regardless of whatever story their clan heads were spreading, they were clearly not sharing their information networks. 

It was a sign, and a potent one, that things were not as chummy between the eternal enemies as they were trying to make it seem. Cracks were there, and it would only take one single incident before they would break apart, like every other failed alliance in their long history, and with them forced into such close proximity, the fallout would be bloody and devastating to both clans. Then, the Hyuuga would be in the best possible position to move.

And instead of being held in reserve, ready to push forward and bring home a final victory, he was sitting here. Watching the same alley that they had been watching for weeks, waiting for the area to clear enough for them to get in and obtain the latest drop. They had watched, not twenty minutes ago, the drop be made, and were now, supposedly, waiting for the area to be clear enough for them to get in and read it, the way they had the last seven messages.

Ryota didn’t know why they bothered. For one thing, as he had thought before, they needed to be worried about the information coming _into_ the capital, not out of it. Secondly, the messages were jibberish. It wasn’t as if the codebreakers were making any progress cracking it. And lastly, the area was well and truly clear. Sure, there were a few villagers out and about, but the spy had managed to leave the message. They could intercept it at any time. He didn’t know what they were waiting for. 

“Ryota. Pay attention.”

Oh. Right. That was why. Ryota’s captain. Hyuuga Asahi, The Asshole, was the reason. 

He was Hanami-sama’s first cousin, and would have inherited the position as clan head if Hanami had died without heirs like all of her older brothers had. 

Thankfully for everyone involved, she had outlived all of her assassination attempts and was, in Ryota’s personal opinion (which he himself thought very highly of), the best clan head they had ever had. As a result, Asahi had become a Branch member, just like everyone else. When he was in his _thirties_. 

He hadn’t really gotten over it. Not that he hadn’t inherited. Ryota didn’t like the man, but he knew the other man to be as loyal as anyone else. 

But he had never quite gotten over the condescension he’d cultivated as a member of the Main Branch. 

This job was so easy and so boring he could have done it in his sleep. He knew it. The rest of his team knew it. He was pretty sure that even Asahi-taicho knew it too. He was just being an _asshole_. As usual.

Ryota made a show of turning his head back towards the drop point, making sure that his whole team could clearly understand the idiocy of the request. It wasn’t like Ryota’s byakugan could miss anythi-

_What the hell._

Fast, faster than any opponent Ryota had ever encountered, an enemy kunoichi with features he couldn’t identify as part of any clan appeared above him and his captain in a puff of smoke and landed between them.(_How? How had they gotten the drop on the byakugan?_) Another figure engaged with his two teammates on the far roof under what he thought was a perfectly solid genjutsu, enough to fool even the sharingan.

Desperately, he brought his hands up to block the kunai heading towards his face. His hands glowed with his jyuuken strike, and he aimed for the wrist holding the blade.

He couldn't touch it. Not even a graze. Instead, the woman withdrew into an impressive back bend. Ryota only had a second to notice the feat of flexibility before a sanded foot came up and hit him under the chin, sending him skyborn.

When he landed, he could only lay there on his back, gazing at the sky.

Ow.

_Ow._

His jaw felt broken, hot and swelling, and painful, and the clouds swirled and tilted nauseatingly above him as the back of his head throbbed in time.

She was so _fast._

"Ryota! The drop!" His captain's shout brought him back to the real world.

Shit.

He'd been so discombobulated that his byakugan had deactivated. Focusing past the immense amount of pain it caused, Ryota sat up and forced chakra back to his eyes.

The 360 degree view his family was so famous for swam (mostly) into focus as he hauled himself upright. Two meters away, back where Ryota had been thrown from, Asahi was in a deadly dance with the kunoichi, who dodged him with the same terrifying speed and skill that she had caught them off guard with in the first place. His teammates on the opposite roof were equally pinned down by another ninja, male this time, and masked, who was keeping even the extremely talented Touya at a distance with a straight sword, but there!

Down below, a hooded blur headed towards the drop. 

_Shit._

Their cover was so, so blown. If word got back that they let it be known that they _knew_ about the Uchiha's spy, then the weeks and weeks they had all spent here would be for nothing. The spy would disappear, the code would change. They’d have to start from scratch, with less to go on than they’d started with.

He had to intercept them. They couldn't let any escape.

Giving out the most genuine curse he thought he'd ever uttered, Ryota leapt down into the alley, but the third shinobi, hooded and masked like the rest, wove past him, threading past Ryota's guard like water around rocks.

Gods, the man's chakra felt like a tidal wave, crushing. Ryota tried to move, but like a rock in a river, his limbs felt like concrete. The other shinobi went right by him.

He had the handmaiden’s note out of its hiding space and was back up on the roofs within the blink of an eye, taking the heavy weight of his chakra with him.

“_Ryota!_”

Holy shit. _Holy shit._ Shaking the feeling off, Ryota made himself move.

Five seconds was all it took for this simple, boring mission to go so, so sideways. He heard the screams of a few villagers who witnessed the entirely unsubtle way that said mission had collapsed into all out violence, but didn’t have time to worry about it. His new target was bolting, and Ryota, all of the Hyuuga team, had been caught flat-footed.

Not for long. Ryota was the fastest of their team, and he took off after the interloper with all of his formidable speed.

He didn’t know what he would do if he managed to actually catch up with the other shinobi. That amount of raw chakra would surely overwhelm him. 

But Ryota wasn’t entirely sure it had been real. As a youth, he had been caught in the killer intent that some enemies radiated. It was enough to trigger the prey instinct of any person and freeze them in their tracks. This was different. Could it have been a genjutsu of some kind? Or was he really racing after someone he had no hope of ever matching?

The byakugan was supposed to be invulnerable to genjutsu, but after the last five seconds, Ryota didn’t want to make any assumptions. Better to prepare to be overwhelmed than have it surprise him again.

Pushing chakra into his feet, Ryota springboarded up to the roof and carrened after his target.

Thing was, Ryota was known for a few things among the Hyuuga. One of which was that though his byakugan’s range was not the most expensive, not by a longshot, no one could deny that his speed could make up the difference. Unfortunately, it was matched by his brashness, and tendency to outrun his own eyes. 

Which is why when his target stopped dead and turned to face him, Ryota nearly ran right into him. He skidded to a stop only a handful of meters from his enemy and threw his hands up, trying desperately to get a guard up, but knowing it would not be enough.

Death stood in front of him and he could only brace himself for it.

But it didn't come. Instead, the hooded shinobi across from him didn't move, didn't take advantage of Ryota’s stupidity the way he _should_ have. 

He just stood there, unmoving. Ryota bit his tongue and sunk deeper into his defensive stance. The veins around his eyes bulged as he prepared for the fight of his life.

For his family.

"Hyuuga, I presume?" the masked shinobi asked.

Ryota didn't answer. Just waited.

Then the man cracked the mask away from where it had rested over his hood. Ryota’s byakugan could see around it the moment it pulled away from the cloth, through the tiniest gap, and Ryota could feel his heart skip a beat at the face revealed.

So, this is was terror actually felt like. There wasn’t a person on the continent that would recognize those distinctive features.

Senju Tobirama. The Ghost. Not a genjutsu after all, then. 

“I should have known,” the albino said, and the deep voice bloomed terror.

Ryota knew, as did all of the Hyuuga, that the Senju brothers, both of them, had the strictest of Do Not Engage orders from Hanami-sama herself. He also knew that it was far, far too late for that.

The Senju would crush him like an insect. All Ryota could hope for was that he could stall long enough for Asahi and his team to somehow defeat their own opponents (and who knew what kind of monsters Senju Tobirama ran with) and come to help and then maybe, hopefully, their combined numbers might convince the Senju that they were not worth the trouble of squashing.

But still, the Ghost made no move.

Instead, he spoke again, voice cracking across the distance between them like a crashing wave. “Tell your clan,” Tobirama said. Ryota could feel it in his bones. “That those who stand against Konoha will fail. That includes the Hyuuga.”

Then, he held up a kunai. Ryota could see a seal unlike any he was familiar with etched into the handle and-

_Crack_.

A blinding flash.

And the other man was _gone._

Not hidden, not _shunshin_-ing away. Gone. Disappeared without a trace.

What. The living hell.

That was _impossible._

This whole day had been impossible.

The byakugan was infallible, and yet it had been bested twice in less than five minutes. 

Ryota may or may not have still been standing there, dumbfounded, when his captain caught up with him, landing next to him soundlessly.

“Ryota, report. Where is the target?”

Uh.

“He’s- gone. Disappeared.”

And Ryota got to hear his infamously stuck up, stoic captain, actually curse.

“Ours too. Gone in a puff of smoke.”

That shook Ryota a bit out of his stupid stupor. Well, almost, enough to blink and look over at Asahi.

“A flash of light.”

“Come again?” his captain asked.

“He disappeared in a flash of light. Like lightning, booming crack and all. You didn’t hear it?”

Asahi shook his head.

“It was Senju Tobirama,” Ryota blurted out.

“... _What_?”

-

Madara didn’t particularly like Hashirama’s office. It was rather small for what it was, and more often than not, now, it was crowded all the time with people who all thought that what they needed was more important than what everyone else in front of them in line needed. His friend was perpetually busy, which Madara more than understood. He was busy himself, but it felt like more and more often, they never had time to actually talk to each other anymore. 

Finding a minute with Hashirama alone was nearly impossible.

That was fine, he supposed. It was just-

Madara felt like he was losing his mind. (Every once in a while, just for a moment, he could swear he felt Izuna’s familiar chakra bloom to life, just beyond his reach. He couldn’t even follow it before it was gone again. Haunting him.) Now, perhaps more than ever, not since just after that day at the river, he really wanted to just _talk_ to Hashirama. Man to man. About his worries, the fears that plagued him. The doubts. 

Doubts, like those about his long held opinion of the man across from them.

Hashirama's younger brother, home from another successful, but fraught, mission.

Make no mistake, Madara still hated the man, could barely look at him (regardless of what he had told the other man), but… 

In the weeks since their conversation in the hall, Madara had heard the same complaints from his clansmen about Tobirama, but had discreetly looked in on some of the Senju’s projects, of which there were a surprising amount. He didn’t know how or why the younger Senju had taken on so much work, but it was clear that his plate was more than full. Moreover, he didn’t know why, with so much going on, Hashirama had assigned him this mission, but he supposed everyone had their hands full... 

And regardless, it wasn’t like Tobirama was having any real trouble getting things done. Beyond the transformer explosion, and regardless of anyone’s complaints, Tobirama was finding ways to get things done.

A lot of things. Though nearly every Uchiha assigned to his staff complained about him vehemently, Tobirama had left a slew of successes behind him. They were everywhere, all over the village Madara had supposedly founded, but he could barely look around without seeing Tobirama’s fingerprints on it. From the electricity that illuminated every home, to the fountain that bloomed in the main square, to the regulations and requirements for paperwork that were quickly becoming the bane of their existence. 

Like it or not, Tobirama had been essential to actually bringing up the village around them. While Madara had been… what had he been doing? Settling the Uchiha, or trying to, but Madara could admit that perhaps his wallowing had been more pronounced that even he’d noticed.

It was still hard to even think of, but Izuna’s death had left him lost, and he lost hours, days, weeks, in the hell of his own grief. And Konohagakure had gone up, rather in-spite of him, the work he should have been doing instead taken up by Hashirama.

And Tobirama. Madara had to admit, the man across from him was, at the very least, worthy of grudging respect. For his ability, if not for his character.

But Madara wasn’t quite ready to give it. Not yet. Not when his motives were still suspect, and rumors haunted his every step.

Rumors not just of his hatred for Madara’s clan. Rumors of insubordination. Of treason, even.

(And Izuna’s chakra hovered in the distance, like a ghost begging not to be forgotten.)

Madara couldn’t be sure, but he suspected that things between the Senju brothers were not as they should be. Whatever reasons Tobirama had for working so hard to make the village succeed, Madara was still unwilling to let go of the idea that it must, surely, be for his own gain.

Now, as he looked at the other shinobi, pale, even more so than usual. Wane. Madara had some of the best eyes on the continent, and he could see the creases that had formed under Tobirama’s eyes, the tension there, and the stiffness with which he held himself. 

Evidently, the mission he was returning from had been draining.

It wasn’t supposed to have been.

“Compromised?” Hashirama asked from his desk. Madara was leaning against the wall behind him, arms crossed to better judge the albino shinobi checking-in.

Tobirama nodded. “The message was, definitely. Likely, the spy as well, and if the interlopers, have copies of the other encoded messages, then it is only a matter of time until the cypher will be cracked as well.”

“We will have them altered,” Hashirama replied from his desk, looking to Madara for confirmation, who nodded. “Any idea who they were?”

“Hyuuga, if I had to guess,”

Madara wanted to curse, but held himself off. 

Fucking Hyuuga. Of course.

Hashirama drummed his finger on the hardwood desk.

“Odd that they would operate so brazenly so close to the Capital,” said the Hokage.

His brother shrugged. It made his blue armor, still dusty and dirt-streaked from the road, chink lightly in the quiet room.

One of the guards, a Senju Madara didn't know, to the side of the room tensed, but didn't otherwise move. Madara made note of it, but his focus refused to be pulled from Tobirama.

“Not necessarily,” Tobirama disagreed. “After all, clearly we are doing the same. They can't afford not to.”

"True enough, I suppose," Hashirama mused, then the steady drumming of his fingernails stopped as he continued. “Now, what of the spy?”

Tobirama’s brow furrowed. He tilted his head to one side, and measured them across the office. Not in annoyance, Madara thought. No, rather, the man just looked confused.

“What about him?” Tobirama asked.

“Her,” Madara corrected, rote, but Tobirama’s eyes flashed to him and the albino nodded.

Madara found it odd that Tobirama wouldn’t know that. It should have been included in the mission briefing, but maybe not. He supposed it wasn’t really relevant.

“Did you make contact with them?” Hashirama asked

More confusion, which Madara somewhat shared.

“Doing so was not a part of my mission,” replied Tobirama.

Madara couldn’t see Hashirama’s face from where he was standing, and felt at a disadvantage for it. He couldn’t even begin to guess where Hashirama was going with this.

“That was before you knew they were compromised, and therefore in danger.”

Tobirama’s face gave a quiet twitch that Madara wouldn’t have seen if he didn’t have his sharingan active to better read Tobirama, which might have been overkill, but he was unwilling to take any chances with Senju Tobirama. After all, he needed all the help he could get. The other man was proving to be a mystery, and one that Madara wasn’t comfortable with leaving unsolved any longer than he needed to.

“My mission was to retrieve her message.”

“But you made no effort to warn her of the danger she is in?” Hashirama’s voice was icier than Madara had ever heard it. 

Tobirama just crossed his arms, shifted his weight to one leg, but didn’t otherwise react to the censure.

“That was not my mission,” he argued.

“But-” Hashirama went to continue, but Tobirama didn’t let him, actually interrupted him.

“I had no way of knowing who the spy was, as it was not included in my mission parameters.”

Hashirama went to interrupt again, but Tobirama didn’t let him.

“Further,” he said, “As the spy was clearly _already_ compromised, it was unlikely that my intervention would have made any difference.”

“So, you made no effort.”

Tilting his head again at his brother, Tobirama did nothing but state flatly, “I completed my mission. If the spy has given her life to get us this information, as I was clearly expected to, then it would have been disrespectful to her service to let it be in vain.”

Madara could, annoyingly, see the logic in that. Tobirama had followed procedure, the same procedure he himself had written, but even Madara, unable to see the Hokage’s face, could tell that the answer did not satisfy his older brother.

Madara had been waiting, begging, for Hashirama to be firmer with Tobirama, to try and rein his tempest of a brother in, but this seemed like an odd thing to choose as the battlefield to bear his grievances. So far, Madara couldn’t actually see anything wrong with Tobirama’s actions, but clearly something about it was bothering his friend. 

Maybe it wasn’t this mission in particular. Maybe Hashirama had just finally had enough. The last straw, as it were. 

His friend sat quietly, still in his Hokage robes, and didn’t react for a long moment.

Finally, he said to the room at large, “Everyone out.”

The admins in the corner who had been clearly listening as they filed things away, the guards, ever present now after, count them, _three_ assassination attempts on Hashirama since the village’s founding, everyone but Tobirama and Madara, filtered out of the room.

Hashirama stood from his desk, and clasped his hands behind his back. He turned, showing his back to his brother, and instead faced Madara as he walked over to the window Madara leaned against.

Brown eyes met red, and Madara nodded his support for whatever Hashirama was planning. Hashirama nodded back, and came to stand beside him, gazing out over the village. Straight to the horizon.

Finally, he asked Tobirama, “And if the spy had been a Senju?”

Because Madara was still facing Tobirama, he could clearly see the way ice settled across the other man’s shoulders, shuddering his eyes. Madara hadn’t noticed the ice’s absence until it was suddenly like staring at a statue once more.

“I don’t follow,” Tobirama said, voice sharp, biting, cold.

Hashirama spun to look over his shoulder at his brother, and asked, slowly, clearly, directly, “If the spy had been one of us, and not an Uchiha, would you have made the same decision?”

“Of course, I would have,” he said, voice cold, and insulted.

“Really?” and here, Madara could hear just a hint of pleading in Hashirama’s voice.

He couldn’t blame him. Madara knew that Hashirama clearly, desperately, wanted his brother to be better, nobler, somehow, than he evidently was.

Instead of softening, or even trying to justify himself in the face of the accusation that Hashirama was leveling against him, Tobirama stiffened and glared.

“I don’t appreciate the insinuation. As I have said before, I am more than capable of putting aside any prejudice I may or-”

“Yes because you have been so successful-”

Madara felt like an interloper in a conversation that he had no business overhearing. He should have left with the others. But no, he’d stayed to support his friend, his friend who had clearly forgotten his presence. Tobirama hadn’t, though, and he glanced at Madara before countering, 

“If you don’t trust my judgment then why do-”

“I do trust you! I want to trust you!” Hashirama said.

Tobirama’s mouth shut, and he was visibly taken aback.

“But you don’t,” Tobirama said, and although it was absolutely flat in tone, it felt.

Shattered. There and then gone, and Madara couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it, but if it was there, buried, hidden, then it was just another facet of the unfathomable enigma that was Tobirama, that he was somehow surprised at Hashirama’s point of view.

And Madara didn’t know _why_.

Of course, Hashirama couldn’t trust him. Only an idiot would. Tobirama must know that.

(But then, he was Hashirama’s brother. Madara’s broth- brother had been. He’d been. 

Well, everything. Madara couldn’t imagine for one moment what it would have been to not trust his brother.

But Tobirama _wasn’t_ Izuna.)

Regardless, Hashirama didn’t waver.

“I want to,” the Hokage said, “but these… _coincidences_ continue. You have proven incapable of showing any compassion for the Uchiha under your care, and now, you may have irrevocable placed one in mortal danger. By the time we can get word to her, it may be too late.”

Tobirama didn’t say anything for a long time. When he did, it was not what Madara had expected. 

(What else was new?)

The Ghost bowed to his brother, long and low, and said, “I apologize for my shortcomings, Anija.”

“Tobirama…” Hashirama protested, as his younger brother straightened. 

And continued, “I know that I lack the humility expected of my position, but I will not deny that on this occasion, I was unable to make any decisions beyond that which I made.”

“Why?” Madara asked, speaking for the first time. 

Tobirama’s eyes cut to him. 

“After engaging with a team of four enemy shinobi, I lacked the chakra to do anything other than return. I couldn’t have stayed and warned the spy, even if I had wanted to.”

… Bullshit. Not the actual answer. No, that felt genuine; Madara could sense no lie in it. But rather what it implied was ludicrous. There were only a handful of shinobi anywhere in the Land of Fire that could come anywhere close to challenging Tobirama. Madara had seen him take on twenty Uchiha and escape uscathed. They Hyuuga were formidable opponents, to be sure, but what were the odds that a low ranking scouting team would have anyone able to rival him?

Why would he lie about it? Admit a failing that was nonexistent? 

"Fine. You're dismissed," said Hashirama flatly.

Madara's eyes cut to him, questioning.

Why? Why not push for answers? Now was the moment.

But again, Hashirama hesitated, and let his brother escape with just another bow to them both.

“So, that's it?” Madara asked, cutting. Hashirama's eyes flickered to him, a clear _don't_ easily read there, but the Hokage didn't say anything, just returned to his desk to sit down again, so Madara continued, “You're just going to let him leave?”

Hashirama spun in his chair to glare at his long time friend.

“What would you like me to do, Madara? Accuse him of lying? He claims he did all he could, and there was no one else there to either corroborate _or_ counter his story.”

“You know that isn’t the whole story!” Madara interjected, but Hashirama continued.

“Of treason, then? He's my brother.”

“But you know he’s lying! He’s dan-”

Hashirama’s hand slammed on the desk. Madara didn’t flinch at the force of Hashirama’s glare, but it was a near thing. It wasn’t the anger that made him pause, but the fear, the regret, the anguish there that held Madara’s tongue. 

“You want me to move against _my brother_ based on nothing but rumor and your own, _biased_ speculation.”

Madara saw red. He wasn’t the one who was biased.

“I want you to not be an idiot!” Madara shouted. “You are being willingly blinded by your own-”

“You. Have. No. Proof.”

“And you are unwilling to even ask!”

Hashirama’s glare flattened into something sardonic. They had had this conversation at least a dozen times and they always ended in the same way.

With Hashirama turning back to his desk, as he did now, and dismissing the matter.

Fine.

If Hashirama wouldn’t act, than Madara would.

“Madara?” Hashirama asked, but Madara didn’t wait. 

He stormed out of Hashirama’s office, and down the hall.

Madara never thought he would miss the war, but there was at least something straightforward about it. Now, everything felt hard, every decision bogged down with indecision like he’d never known before. He perpetually had both nothing and too much to do. The world was rushing by and standing still and he just lacked, fundamentally, the ability to be decisive, to move, any more.

But not here. Not about this.

Tobirama hadn't made it far.

“Senju!”

The albino turned, but didn’t flinch when Madara was suddenly very much in his space.

“Why lie?” Madara just came out and asked, it wasn’t so hard after all. “There’s no way a simple mission like this one could have left you as exhausted as you clearly are. We both know you are lying, so why bother?”

Tobirama didn’t answer, just narrowed his eyes and went to turn away. Madara didn’t let him. Instead, he grabbed the Ghost’s arm, hauled him back.

He didn't know how to let this go. Ever since their last meeting, it felt more and more like the other man, and the paradox he presented, were the only thing that could clearly focus on.

(The world was rushing by and standing still, but this, here, in these moments trying to unravel the other man, decisiveness came easy.)

For some reason, he was struck by the warmth under the fabric of Tobirama’s shirt, the heat of the other man’s breath on his face. Madara didn’t know why, it seemed irrational once he noticed it, but he had expected the other man to be colder, more like the Ghost he was rumored to be.

It made him pause, the world stilling. Even the hallway, one of the busiest in the Hokage tower, full of people, all paused as two of the redoubtable titans of the shinobi world stared each other down, inches apart. 

The chaos that had almost perpetually filled Madara’s mind silenced, quieted, as everything narrowed to the face, inches from his own. From the red eyes that could so easily consume him. 

Enough. He refocused.

“I know you are hiding something,” Madara hissed.

“And you aren’t?” Tobirama questioned. 

Again, as usual, the younger Senju caught him flat-footed. Madara’s grip tightened.

“I’m not the one under suspicion,” Madara countered.

“Perhaps you should be, if you are so willing to publicly show the cracks in our alliance,” the Senju hissed back.

Madara’s sharingan spun, waiting, ready. It was like he was holding onto a tiger, a hurricane, but Tobirama didn’t move, just maintained eye contact with Madara, even though the Senju knew, _exactly_, how dangerous that could be; but for just a moment, just one second, things in Madara’s mind went quiet for once. 

Waiting.

“Madara!” 

Hashirama’s voice broke the moment, cracking-in, breaking whatever fragile moment of absolute focus that had passed between them, but Madara didn’t look away. Didn’t move. 

Tobirama did, though. The Senju wrenched his arm out of Madara’s grip, his carmine eyes pulling away from Madara’s own to look at his elder brother.

Waiting, Madara realized, to see if Hashirama would do anything. If Hashirama would defend him, his own flesh and blood. Madara half thought he would. 

But Hashirama didn’t, and Tobirama turned to stone next to him. Took a step back, then another.

“Excuse me, Uchiha-sama,” the younger Senju bowed to Madara, then turned, and bowed stiffly, to Hashirama, “Hokage-sama. I have work to do.”

He turned to leave, even made it a few feet before Hashirama’s voice stopped him. Again.

“Tobirama,” the Hokage called, and Tobirama stopped. He didn’t fully turn back, but rather looked over his shoulder at both of them.

Hashirama opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, straightened from where he had been leaning forward. Fortified himself, and the elder brother, the one that had appeared for just a moment to stop Madara, disappeared, leaving only the Senju clan head. The Hokage.

“... Have a medic clear you before you head back in the field.”

After a long, unreadable pause, Tobirama nodded, and disappeared down the hallway that came back to life in his wake.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!
> 
> Another long wait, but I hope this chapter was worth it. Real life kicked me in the teeth there for a minute, but hopefully my new situation will let me get back into more regular updates. Fingers crossed in any case. Most of this chapter got written in the last three days or so, so huge shout out to my best friend and beta LostInThePines for keeping up and devouring it so quickly. She really is the best. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts, especially since this chapter came together so quickly.
> 
> If you want to chat, feel free to hit me up on Tumblr or even Discord. Handle's the same <3


	7. Chapter 7

Before all of this happened, Izuna presumed himself an expert on all things fraternal. He and Madara had been mostly joined at the hip for their childhood, raised side by side as friends. Partners. Each other’s right hand. The way they were supposed to be.

One time, their father had taken Izuna to the Uchiha forges. Had laid a warm and on his youngest son’s shoulder and told him to watch, to listen to the rhythmic pounding of the craftsmen on the sword they were forging together. One, older, more experienced, held the molten metal in his tongs and flipped it in between the heavy blows of his fellow, leading, controlling the pace, without a word needed. He put the blade back in the flames, and once more in perfect sync, they pulled the billows in opposite tandem, turning the flames from orange to white.

_“You see?” he’d said, “They must work together to make the flames hot enough to drive the impurity out of the steel. Together, with a harmony understood. Neither must push the other beyond their capabilities, outpace him because he can. Instead, they bring everything, the flame, the steel, and each other, to the best it can be by working together.”_

_Then he’d made sure Izuna looked at him, paid rapt attention to his words as he continued._

_“So it was between my brother and I. You are all that Madara has left. He must be able to depend on you to know when he needs to be fanned, and when he needs to be pounded. Sometimes, most times, he will need encouragement, but do not ever let him think that he can do this without you._

_Be kind to each other, stand by each other, and together, you will make the Uchiha clan everything it was meant to be.”_

So, Izuna had understood, always, what it meant to be _brothers_.

And he couldn’t help but think that whoever had given Tobirama a similar talk had fucked it up royally. 

To be fair, he hadn’t liked Hashirama since the moment he’d first heard of him. First born of their greatest enemy, but what was worse, he was a _lie_. A lie that had nearly usurped Izuna’s own position as Madara’s closest friend and brother. Had nearly convinced Madara to turn his back on his family to frolic at playing make believe. 

Had fought Madara on the battlefield day after day as their family died around them. 

It didn’t exactly endear him to Izuna.

But he had, for as long as he could remember, preferred the elder Senju brother to the younger. Hashirama had been reputed to be a good man, and fair leader as far as where his own people were concerned. He had stopped the worst of the Senju practices from the moment he had become clan head, something Izuna could respect when he and Madara found out just how hard it was to do the same. 

It was a move he had assumed Tobirama had opposed. If Hashirama was reputed fair, merciful even, then his brother was reputed to be his opposite in every way. 

Devious. Cunning. Cruel. A true bastard, maybe even more than metaphorically if the rumors were true. 

If Hashirama was the willow, bendable to the breeze, his brother was the oak, firm in the face of the strongest winds. Izuna had known that he would have to rip the other man up by his very roots if they ever wanted peace. 

So, he had trained. Hadn’t softened when Madara tried to talk of things that were _not_ possible. Had pushed and pushed and _pushed_ himself everyday for years just to try and kill that one man. A man whose ruthless practicality Izuna had feared would lead to the end of his own family.

He had never given any thought to what would happen if Tobirama turned that same practicality on himself, and his relationship with his brother. If he had, he would have thought that Tobirama would find no use for his elder brother. Everyone knew that Tobirama thought his Anija soft and foolish. Thought the Senju would be better off with a clan head more like their father had been. Ruthless. Vicious. 

Like everything Tobirama was reported to be. None of it, Izuna was learning, true.

Izuna thought that Tobirama probably knew what people thought of him, and took secret pleasure in being the exact opposite. Because it was without a doubt the most frustrating thing about the other man.

Everything Izuna thought he knew was _wrong_. All the time. It was going to give him a complex.

Like now. Tobirama was writing in his book again, the one that somehow contained everything. But this time, it wasn’t about the defence project he had been assigned, or the patrol schedule he was trying to arrange, or even notes on the various clans’ shinobi that he was trying to somehow organize into a concise ranking system. 

No, this was the section for the Senju’s personal ruminations. Things he shared, more and more often, with Izuna as he wrote them down for later examination, assuming the other man ever got a moment to breathe. His thoughts, details of his days, irritations, things he needed to attend to later. It wasn’t a journal, nothing so banal, but, if Izuna were pressed to name the collective: a collection of the philosophical musings of a genius. 

One who was, apparently, far too content with the fragility of his own existence for Izuna’s comfort.

Which brought him back to brotherhood, and why Hashirama was an _asshole_.

“And so, it would seem that the Hokage”_-not his brother, he never called Hashirama that anymore-_ “does not think that intersecion on my behalf would be in the best interest of the village.”

Tobirama had been telling him about the mission he’d just returned from, about the interception, and about the meeting he’d had with Madara and Hashirama afterwards, and Izuna was… conflicted, but mostly unimpressed. Maybe with Madara, who always- had always, always nagged Izuna to “look underneath the underneath,” something he was clearly failing at, if what Tobirama was telling him was true, maybe even with his family as a whole.

He got it. He really did. If anyone could understand possessing a burning desire to kill Tobirama, Izuna did. But he also… the village idea was working. Tobirama told him all about it, almost all the people, clans from across the Land of Fire were joining up with them with fewer problems than anyone could have expected. It seemed like everyone was eager for peace, enough so to put aside years of hatred, but much more so with Hashirama.

Of anyone, Izuna thought that he understood better than most just how much the Uchiha dislike was _justified_, but. 

But.

They had been at war. Even Izuna couldn’t say that he was proud of every action he’d taken during said war. His hands were far from clean. None of theirs were. And to hold Tobirama’s equally bloodstained hands against him while they all left their own behind felt more and more awful the more he came to realize how much the Senju regretted it. 

He had thought Tobirama, well, if not enjoyed their fights, was at least indifferent to them. But maybe Tobirama had hated every minute of it. Maybe he only did what he thought he had to. Like Izuna. Like the rest of the Uchiha.

And they held it against him.

“It is likely that the Uchiha would not listen even if Hashirama did try to intercede. A good commander should never give an order that they cannot be sure will be obeyed. To enforce retribution for their slights against me would no doubt tear this peace apart at the seams, something he, nor I, can allow.”

And then! That! Hashirama was Tobirama’s brother. Which, okay, Izuna knew that he and Madara were more the exception than the rule where brothers were concerned, but Hashirama wasn’t even trying!

Tobirama had been nearly killed on two missions _in a row_. Sure, maybe one or two of the problems on said missions had been due to someone’s fuck up rather than sabotage, but this was getting ridiculous. Hashirama _knew_. Tobirama was sure of it.

And that _sucked._

Even if Izuna was in no way ready to say that the younger Senju brother was anywhere near his favorite person, he just-

Unimpressed. With Hashirama.

He might be a decent clan leader, but he was turning out to be a pretty shitty brother in Izuna’s very educated opinion. 

Not that Izuna cared. No, of course not. Shut up. 

“If it is true, that the Hokage sees my very existence as detrimental to the possibility of peace, then it is only right that he be willing to sacrifice my own life for its existence.”

_No. No it’s not._

How could he even think that? A brother was supposed to- wasn’t-

“You disagree?”

… Huh?

Tobirama had never really addressed him directly, not in a way that made it seem like the other man was expecting an answer of some kind. 

If this worked. If Izuna could somehow confer an answer…

He thought, felt, the hardest _NO_ he could.

The Cat, huddled against his left side, shifted, like it could sense his discontent but-

The other man hummed. Hummed! In answer. And then continued, as if he could hear Izuna.

“I suppose on a fundamental level, you are correct. No man should wish death upon another. However, the fate and responsibilities of leaders fly above those of normal men. The morals that must bind you and I as mere members of a civilized society cannot, in fact, apply to the role of those destined to lead. A true leader must not shy away from acts of ruthlessness that are necessary for the safeguarding of the state. If he were to, then he would jeopardize those that he is duty bound to protect.”

_Okay, but-_

“His destiny has always been difficult for him to accept," -_... has it though_?- "but it is his duty to rule, just as it is mine to follow where he leads. In his role as clan head, and now Hokage, Hashirama must be able to separate his personal feelings from his responsibilities.”

_Yes, but you are one of his responsibilities. His most important. Family.. He can’t just lay you aside._

"It is therefore my role, as his younger brother and inferior of both rank and birth, to support whatever decisions he must make."

Okay. That was another Very Weird Thing. Izuna knew the Senju had positions in the Daimyo's court and we're considered feudal lords, that they followed hereditary inheritance patterns that the Uchida had long since abandoned for the more practical dogma of "Might is right." The strongest amongst them ruled, whether he be the son of the previous clan head or not. Maybe at some point they had done something similar, but…

The way Tobirama talked about it, it was more than a doctrine. In fact, the Senju seemed to see this order as the way the very universe was ordained. 

To be honest, fair, Izuna had never given it much thought. Even when Tobirama was explaining it, summarizing passages read and writing his own thoughts on it, way back when Izuna would have given anything to make him stop talking, Tobirama had talked about things like _destiny_, and how character _was_ destiny.

“We are all who we are meant to be. Those who are meant to rule become rulers. Why else would the gods have born us thus?”

Okay. Izuna disagreed. There was no such thing as fate, or destiny, or any other such nonsense. The world was what you made of it.

Now. How to get that point across to the man across from him? It was a more complicated sentiment than the negative he had been able to distinctly portray.

(Three feet away and out of reach this whole thing was _infuriating_. The Senju was going to let the convoluted philosophy of someone long dead march him along to his _grave_, and Izuna with him.)

Nonetheless, Tobirama seemed to pause, before coming to his next point.

“If, in the line of duty, I were to die, it would be irrational for Hashirama to blame himself. He is my clan head. Your own brother knew the danger he put you in every moment he allowed us to continue in our fight, and he was right to do so.”

_Sure. But-_

“Why should this be any different? If Hashirama feels, believes that his intercession on my behalf would be at all damaging to the whole of his people, then it is only right that he should do nothing. He must do nothing.”

The Senju stopped writing. He sighed as though the weight of ages rested on his shoulders (in some ways, Izuna thought it did), and rolled up the scroll he had been writing in. Sealed it away in a book no one would ever read. The other man stood, and Izuna knew there would be no more discussion tonight. He didn’t know if he was grateful or not.

But the Senju stopped at the door.

“I think,” he said, mellow and low and exhausted, “that I would be honored to die for an idea like this one. If only you could see it, see the children playing together, the way our people can live in peace, I think you would understand. After all, we are all but water over rocks. That which is here will be gone again, lost like a candle in the wind. If my time should come sooner rather than later, it will make no difference to the eons that follow us.”

And then he left. Closed the door.

_Yes it would,_ Izuna thought. _It would make a difference._

_It would make a difference to me._

-

The hospital that the Yamanaka had before they joined Konoha had been nothing to sneeze at. Their alliance with the Nara, Akimichi, and Sarutobi clans had made them a part of one of the wealthiest and most powerful alliances to hold sway in the Land of Fire, and their medical facilities had shown it. 

And still, despite their combined resources, they’d had _nothing_ on what Konoha had developed almost overnight. The Senju’s world renowned techniques were paired with the latest technologies from all corners of the continent, and experts willing to teach medics from all clans everything they knew, had created something amazing out here in what was mostly still a scrap of nowhere. 

Even Ishohi Yamanaka, notoriously persnickety as he was, could admit to being impressed with the facilities. 

With his supervisor, a Senju woman named Wata-something or other, he was less so.

“You have a patient,” she said, tossing a clipboard into Ishohi’s lap with more force than necessary. He was sitting down for the first time in nine hours, not slacking. “He’s in exam room twelve.”

“Who is it?” Ishohi asked, deliberately not taking offence as he flipped back to look at the preliminary work up to get an idea of what he was going to be dealing with. Active shinobi, male, healthy. Waste of his time. 

She huffed at him impatiently to go along with her customary glare, so Ishohi took his good, sweet time flipping back to the page with the patient’s name.

He felt his mouth drop open.

“Senju Tobirama? What’s wrong with him?” Ishohi asked, flipping back to the blood work again. Maybe he’d missed something? Perfectly healthy shinobi didn’t just walk into a hospital. Especially not Senju Tobirama.

His supervisor rolled her eyes. (Oh, how he hated her condescension, her patronizing. As though the Senju, though brilliant at the art of healing with their generally massive chakra stores, were somehow exclusively better at healing than other clans. It was a perfectly reasonable question!) 

“Nothing,” she said, something sharp in her eyes. “The Hokage wants us to give him an evaluation and clear him for field missions. Something about a protocol that I’m sure he’s just making us do for propriety’s sake. It’s a waste of your time.”

Ishohi was torn between feeling vindicated that she was outright announcing her deliberate attempts to sandbag him with busy work, and suspicious. She was miserable to work for, true, but she’d never outright admitted to wasting his time before. 

He nodded, slowly, and looked back at the chart. 

“As you can see, I’ve already taken his vitals, you’re welcome by the way,” she said, haughty, much more like her usual glowing self. “He’s fine. Just go in, ask him the necessary questions, and clear him for duty. The Hokage needs him in the field.”

Then she smiled at him, thin lips disappearing before going off to do whatever it was that she did to lodged that stick so far up her-

‘Deep breaths, Ishohi. Breathe,’ he told himself. ‘She isn’t worth the jail time.’

“Think about it this way,” the admin on the other side of the desk said without looking up from what she was writing. “In a hundred years, who’s gonna care?”

Ishohi glared at her and headed across the lobby, down the hall to the exam room. 

He had mixed feelings about this particular Senju, beyond his general distaste for the clan that his supervisor’s distemper and general arrogance had given him by association. But by their own admission, Senju Tobirama was a different breed. 

On the one hand, Senju Tobirama had saved his cousin, Idane. The explosion at the substation should have left him nothing but ash. Instead, the Senju had swapped with him, leaving Idane barely singed, not even crispy, even if he’d needed a haircut to get rid of the burnt ends (which he also wouldn't shut up about). He had blathered on and on about how they had all misjudged him, how, yes, he was an asshole, but deep down, way deep down, he was a _hero_.

It was all the other man would talk about for _weeks_.

As was proper, the Yamanaka clan invited the Senju heir to their home for a meal that same day. 

The Senju declined. 

This seemed reasonable. After all, in many cases, invitations of this kind were meant to symbolize a new level of closeness in the relationship, and not intended as an actual desire for the person to actually attend.

And, okay, Ishohi knew the other clans were different from his own, but invitations were kind of a _thing_ among the Yamanaka.

Dinner invitations were often extended for minor favors given to the clan, and were taken very seriously by their major ally, the Akimichi. Food was not something to be offered to an Akimichi lightly. It was almost unheard of, someone declining an invitation to dinner.

Idane argued for another invitation to be sent. He even managed to convince Inouye-sama, their Clan Head, to extend a personal invitation to the Senju to attend dinner at the clan lands, both to indicate their sincerity, but also to emphasize the honor they held the man in.

When the second invitation was snubbed, was not even replied to, despite Inouye-sama delivering it personally, the offense was taken personally. 

Clearly, Senju Tobirama did not see fit to hold the Yamanaka in high regard. In fact, he held them in so little regard, that he did not even find the time to decline at all, let alone in person. 

It soured the impression that Idane had striven to make known. 

For what use was an ally, after all, who did not value the Yamanaka in return?

The Nara clan cautioned that some backwards clans found it polite to decline invitations, in order to allow the offeror to prove their sincerity with repetition. Ishohi found this a strange practice for a man reported to be so very practical, but it was clear that the Yamanaka owed Senju Tobirama a debt for the life of their kinsman. 

Inouye-sama had been in a mood ever since, one that only got worse every invitation that was returned unopened.

That Tobirama was adverse to letting them repay it boded ill. 

Worse, that he was rude enough to decline sequential invitations over and over, without even taking the time to speak to Inouye-sama personally? 

But what could Inouye-sama do but continue to offer? 

Surely, _nine_ invitations should be enough to highlight the eminence of their guest? 

There was resentment there, festering, caused from the slighting of his clan as a whole and made worse by his irritating supervisor. 

Idane was adamant, though, that Tobirama was a good man, if a cold one. His judgment could usually be trusted about these kinds of things, especially after skin contact.

So. Mixed feelings about Senju’s in general and Tobirama in particular. Ishohi had them.

However, he was also a professional healer, and refused to let anything get in the way of doing his job.

Resolved, he made his way to the door. It wasn’t until he was turning the knob that a bolt of fear, sharp and potent as lightning zipped down his spine. 

He knew, suddenly and with utmost certainty, that standing on the other side of this flimsy piece of wood was one of the greatest killers on the continent. 

If he desired it, the Senju could ensure that Ishohi would never even see his death coming. 

And everyone knew that it was bad luck to set eyes on the Ghost. 

Only a fool would set aside Senju Tobirama’s reputation and approach him needlessly. Ishohi was no fool. 

But he did have a job to do. The man was here for a check up, not anything to be feared. Besides, needs must and all that. So, he straightened, summoned his courage with a quiet gulp and plastered a smile on his face before he knocked and opened the door. 

“Good afternoon Senju-sama,” he greeted with a bow then a raised hand. “I’m Yamanaka Ishohi.”

Tobirama’s gaze was like a physical weight as the unsettling red eyes measured him. “Yamanaka-san,” the Senju greeted, polite as anything.

There was a surprising lack of terror running through him, Ishohi noted with relief. Then he finally got a good look at his patient. He looked… tired. And ill.

He wasn’t sure why, but the way the Senju was sitting on the exam table, slouched over, his armor off and on the floor beside him, in nothing but his black shirt sleeves, took Ishohi aback, threw him off his stride. It made the man seem smaller, somehow, than he was expecting. How strange...

Brows furrowed, Ishohi looked back to the charts. Flipped threw a few pages. Blinked and flipped back.

Normal. Everything looked normal. Like the man was just returned from a three month retreat to the _onsen_, not this weary man before him. 

When he looked back up, the Senju was watching him with a raised eyebrow. Ishohi coughed a bit, clearing his throat before plastering on a smile to hide his confusion. 

“Everything appears to be in order,” Ishohi said as he sat down on the stool by the cabinets, and asked. “Is there any particular reason for this visit? Have you been feeling unwell?”

The Senju didn’t have an ounce of inflection in his voice as he said, “The Hokage insisted. It is procedure for any shinobi returning from a mission lasting more than five days involving active combat.”

Ishohi knew that. He’d been one of the healers consulted about what the particular details of that procedure should be... 

He flipped through the chart again. No mention of post-mission checks, nothing about it at all.

No wonder the man looked exhausted. 

None of the tests necessary for incoming shinobi had been included in the Senju’s paperwork, or his blood tests.

Caught very, very flat footed, Ishohi didn’t let his slight embarrassment show (that Senju bitch had set him up to look like an idiot in front of Senju Tobirama, he wondered if she’d be laughing when he switched her sugar for salt). Instead, he channelled it into the irritation that was bubbling beneath the skill.

He tossed the useless clipboard on the counter - clearly everything in that chart was bullshit - and decided to just begin again. From scratch. 

He pulled out the small notebook from his breast pocket. “Of course. Let’s start over, shall we?” he said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. Uncapping a pen, he asked, “Do you have any injuries to report?”

“No,” the Senju said, and Ishohi took note. 

“Any pressing health concerns? Anything feel out of the ordinary?”

The other man didn’t answer, so Ishohi looked up, and found himself being watched again.

Measured.

“No,” Tobirama answered flatly.

Judging by the subtle tightness around his eyes, the darkness under them, that was at the very least a white lie. Or perhaps a serious case of denial. Ishohi had seen more than enough of both in his tenure as a medic.

He also knew better than to try and call his patient on it. Instead, he took out a thermometer, and had the Senju put it under his tongue for a minute while he took the man’s blood pressure. 

High. Well, not excessively so, but higher than the baseline that had been recorded in the Senju’s file. Not enough to be alarmed about, and the Senju was a bit young to worry about it, Ishohi thought as he unwrapped the plastic arm piece. 

Ishohi made a note to keep an eye on it. 

The Senju handed him the thermometer when it beeped. 

Normal temp. Likely no infection in whatever wound he was concealing, at least. He wondered how a man at his age had survived so long, if he was used to hiding injuries from his healers.

...Actually, he wasn’t even entirely sure what that age was, now that he thought of it.

He went back to the discarded file on the counter and flipped through it. And couldn’t stop his pale blond eyebrow from raising.

Twenty-three. The Senju sitting behind him was a decade younger than Ishohi himself and he…

He didn’t know why that was so surprising. It just felt a little. Young. Not young for a shinobi, of course not but still. Younger than Ishohi had thought.

Young, for someone with that much responsibility. 

Young, for someone who had fought and survived a war.

For someone who had saved his kin, and then be scorned for it. 

Ishohi felt an embarrassed flush rise as he realized he had been staring at the form for slightly too long. Long enough for the Senju behind him to notice, which he surely had, so Ishohi quickly wrote down the BP and temp in his notebook to add to his write up later and turned back to the albino. 

Who wasn’t watching him. Instead, his attention was drawn out the window, but what he saw that had him so fixated, Ishohi could only guess. 

He cleared his throat, and stood beside Tobirama, who watched his movement keenly now.

“I’m just going to run a diagnostic, if you don’t mind?” Ishohi asked as his hands began to glow green.

“Watanaka-san already ran one.”

Ishohi didn’t want to tell Tobirama that he didn’t trust that witch farther than he could throw her (they were still from the same clan, after all) so instead, he said, “Well, two eyes are better than one. May I?”

Again, those eyes measured him. Ishohi tried to smile reassuringly, which he doubted had any real effect, but the Senju nodded. Ishohi laid his hands on Tobirama’s unarmored back and _felt._

Chakra systems were funny things. They could be tumultuous, slippery, quiet or static. A good medic, the best of them, could seamlessly integrate their own chakra with their patients, regardless of how that unique person’s system was wired. It wasn’t easy, wasn’t something that came naturally; the precise control necessary to channel his own energy into something concurrent enough for curative measures to even be attempted had taken Ishohi nearly six months of exploding fish to finally master.

Since then, Ishohi had been a medic for nearly twenty years. He’d started young, beginning, as all Yamanaka medics did, with tremors of the mind, but he knew how a ninja with Tobirama’s reputation _should_ feel like, even if he’d never encountered one himself. 

Needless to say, he didn’t find what he was expecting. He could feel the spaces that should be full to bursting, always extending, withering inward at the yawning chasm left in the wake of where vast amounts of chakra should be. And from the feel of it, it had been gone a while. 

Which was unhealthy, to say the least. 

“You’re low on chakra,” he informed the Senju. “Very low.”

Tobirama just gave him a flat look over his shoulder. “I’m aware,” he said, more snappish than Ishohi had expected. “I’m just back from a mission.”

Yes, Ishohi still knew that. And he didn’t take kindly to Tobirama’s implication that he was stupid.

“Was it abnormally long?” he asked, to which Tobirama shook his head. “Or did that mission involve a fight to the death with a mountain?”

Head shake.

“Draining an ocean?”

Nope.

“Something that should otherwise leave you running on reserves?”

“Nothing more than usual.”

… If this was ‘usual’, Ishohi would eat his own hair. He huffed and pulled back his own chakra, took his hands back and turned away. He went back to the counter and pulled up the small stool so that he could have a place to sit while he wrote up his findings, since it would clearly take a while.

And boy, did he have some things to say. Fucking Watanaka. There was no way she did half of the tests she _should_ have. This was straight up negligence. It was _criminal_.

“I’m going to recommend that you be admitted,” he said, still writing.

“... Excuse me?”

The tone sent a shiver up his spine. Straightened it, as though it were hooked and reeled in, up, and oh. Yes. This was still Senju Tobirama, who, chakra or not, could probably break Ishohi in half. Startled, the medic turned, and found a war hardened shinobi where his pliant patient had been. 

“You-” he stammered before those eyes of blood on eyes, and gathered his courage. 

He was a combat medic, not some stuttering apprentice. He could do this.

“You have acute chakra exhaustion. If left untreated, it could be deadly.”

“Could be, but is not yet, so you have no reason to admit me.”

“That’s not reall-”

“Your superior has already cleared me for duty, and I have no doubt that she has given you instruction to do the same.”

And, okay, Ishohi had always had a temper. It ran in his family, fucking sue him, but that _bitch_ had-, didn’t even-, there was _no way_\- “But-!” 

Tobirama didn’t let him get more than a word in. “As such,” he said as he stood up off the examination table, “you should follow her instruction.”

“Senju-sama,” he began, a little hopelessly as Tobirama began putting back on his armor with efficient hands “Surely you know how dangerous-”

“I do. I also know you have orders to clear me. Do so,” the Senju said, sounding certain that he would be obeyed. 

Clearly, he didn’t know the Yamanaka very well.

“... No.”

Tobirama paused in fastening his breastplate. Looked up again. 

For the first time, when he looked to Ishohi, measuring again, Ishohi felt certain that there was a hint of… approval there.

“No?” 

Ishohi could be wrong, he supposed, as that came out like a threat. A serious one. One that promised action. 

Gulping, Ishohi stood his ground and tried to reason with the Senju.

“You yourself wrote into the procedures that the acting physician has the right to suspend a shinobi from active service. I’m not asking.”

And instead of the resistance he expected, (perhaps feared, because, you know, he wasn’t an idiot), the Senju… sighed. Looked back to the task of rearming.

“I understand, and I agree with you on principle. However, there are things you do not know. For one thing, this mission took less than a week to complete and was not particularly strenuous save for one aspect.”

“Which was?” Ishohi asked, tipping his head to get his bangs out of his face.

The Senju didn’t answer for a moment. When he did, it really, honestly, wasn’t what Ishohi expected.

“My relative chakra exhaustion is of my own making. An experimental jutsu I have been working with is no doubt the cause of my current state, and can be rectified easily enough with proper rest. However, as you no doubt know, the village is still in a state of flux.”

Ishohi nodded. He did know that. Everyone knew that. He also knew how much Tobirama was acting like a linchpin, holding the whole thing together, and felt himself begin to waver against his better judgement.

“It was,” the Senju paused, searching for the correct word, “foolish of me to attempt to develop a new jutsu now of all times, but I suppose we are all guilty of reaching past what our better judgement should allow.”-_Okay. Fair enough, but that didn’t solve the problem.-_ “That said, I know my own limits. And an extended stay in the hospital will do me no further benefit than rest in my own home.” -_Maybe but-_ “and I have already informed the Hokage of my current chakra levels. He will no doubt take it into consideration.”

__

The Senju finished the last knot of his armor with a decisive tug. Then he looked up to Ishohi and waited to see if he’d continue to insist. 

__

“... I understand, truly, but I have a duty to do right by my patients. You need rest, but you may also need monitoring.”

__

“I will monitor myself,” Tobirama insisted.

__

Ishohi shook his head and said, “It's not the same.”

__

"I understand that," Tobirama said as he crossed his arms. “But just as you have a duty to me, I have a duty to the village. The only thing a prolonged hospital stay will accomplish is more stress as the delay puts me further behind.”

__

“Then delegate,” Ishohi pleaded, but he could feel his high ground slipping away as Tobirama shook his head.

__

“There is no one else. Please.”

__

And as much as he really, really didn't want to, as he looked at his stubborn, formidable, unmoving, (_young_) patient, he had to concede that it was possible that the Senju was correct. The Hokage was swamped, Uchiha Madara was _useless_. Tobirama was keeping them afloat. (Which probably accounted for his rejected invitations, if he was feeling generous, and curse it, he certainly was.) Likely at the cost of his own health but… a shinobi's duty was to give his life for his clan if necessary. Ishohi knew that. And-

__

He got the feeling that the Senju didn’t say ‘please’ very often.

__

“Fine.”

__

Tobirama’s shoulders loosened, nearly imperceptible despite Ishohi’s training. Relieved. 

__

It didn’t make Ishohi feel any better about his decision, but nonetheless, Tobirama tilted his head at him in a motion to continue.

__

“I’ll clear you for duty pending two weeks of light missions only,” Tobirama went to nod, but Ishohi held up a hand, “_And_, I will see you again at the end of that period to reassess.”

__

“... Fine,” Tobirama finally acquiesced. 

__

“Fine.”

__

Tobirama picked up his sword from where it rested against the wall as Ishohi reached for an appointment slip. He wrote down the date of their next appointment, and circled it twice. 

__

Tearing it out, he turned to find Tobirama waiting for him. He looked down at the notepad, and hoped he wasn’t making a mistake, but he shook it off. This was Senju Tobirama. He would be fine.

__

Still.

__

He held the finished slip out to the other man, who reached for it immediately, but Ishohi didn’t let go until the other man met his eye.

__

“I’m serious. Don’t forget.”

__

And he could feel in the Senju’s narrowing eyes that he had just reached the end of Tobirama’s patience, so after he got a nod, he let the other man take the paper, and got out of his way.

Tobirama shifted past him like the ghost he was so often called and Ishohi watched him go, watched him walk down the hallway, following a few steps behind. Watched him walk across the lobby and be stopped by the Hospital Director herself.

“Tobirama-sama!” the slightly terrifyingly efficient woman called out, her admin tottering behind, just trying to keep up. “About the hematology analyzers we requisitioned?”

The Senju paused to listen, took the file she handed him, and opened it. 

“What about them?” he asked.

__

“Well sir, they haven’t arrived yet, and we were jus-”

__

“Senju-sama,” a man in the new engineering corp uniform interrupted said, “Morinoka sent me. It’s about grid twelve.”

__

Tobirama nodded to the Director and said, “I’ll take care of it,” before walking towards the engineer.

__

“B-but Tobirama-sama!” the Director said, walking after him.

At the same time, the engineer began saying, “Something’s going wrong with the transmission lines-”

And then yet another person approached, a Senju with a blank face holding a clipboard said, “Tobirama, you’re late for your meeting with the Sarutobi Clan Head.”

He nodded at the new woman who fell in line beside him (an assistant perhaps?), turned back to the engineer until the Director took his arm.

Ishohi looked down at his notes. Stress, heightened BP, and chakra exhaustion, and a man who could clearly not expect a moment’s peace.

Ishohi shook his head as he watched the man and his tagalongs shuffle out the door and tried not to feel like he had just made a huge mistake.

-

__

More and more, Tobirama's spent his days in his office, a revolving door of people, all of whom needed something with small, half an hour windows to fill out all the paperwork scrolls that those meetings generated. As soon as he finished one, he walked it to his assistant's desk to be delivered wherever it needed to end up, usually with an admonishment that it was time sensitive - hence why he had bothered to cram it into his schedule in the first place.

__

However, more often than not it would sit, unread, waiting until Taka had time for it. 

__

Unfortunately for that lonely piece of paper, Taka was less than fond of her job, and even less of the man whose hand had toiled over it for so long. In fact, she was relatively certain that was why Hashirama-sama had given her the position.

__

Everyone knew Hashirama was finally, _finally_ tiring of his brother’s horseshit.

__

About fucking time, in Taka’s opinion.

__

So, she cleaned her nails, spent a good hour moving papers back and forth between different drawers, went out to chat with the other admins, came back, shuffled some more papers, reversed the alphabetization of files from front to back, then changed her mind and put them back, went to get some water, came back, but oh! Look at the time. Time for lunch.

__

All the while, the report sat unattended, ignored.

__

Well, she supposed she should take it now. Tobirama would be busy for the next who knows how long, but still. Now was convenient. So she grabbed it and left for lunch.

__

But instead of turning right as she exited the Hokage’s tower and heading towards the scroll’s destination - the Uchiha in charge of agricultural coordination - she went left instead, taking it on a long, casual stroll back towards the Senju District, her home. Home for lunch. Nothing strange about that. In fact, once there, she thought she might swing by to visit her esteemed aunt. Well, third cousin thrice removed, but still, Noriko was like everyone’s aunt. Elder, honored, and a more than worthwhile person to spend lunch with. 

__

No. Nothing strange. Absolutely, perfectly normal. There was nothing strange at all about bringing classified paperwork with her, either. After all, Noriko was an Elder of their clan. There could be nothing in them that she shouldn’t know. 

__

But Elder Noriko was a busy woman, Taka knew, so she was unsurprised when she entered the Elder’s study to find another visitor already there.

__

“Ah, Taka,” Noriko said and nodded at her to come in.

__

The other guest, Watanaka, was still in her hospital scrubs and lab coat.

__

“As I was saying, Noriko-sama, the Yamanaka has indicated in his notes that Tobirama has spoken with Hashirama about his condition. What if he decides to investigate further?” the medic asked, uncaring of Taka’s presence. They were all family, after all. “He could discover my involvement.”

__

“He won’t. Hashirama’s distrust of his brother’s word is becoming stronger,” pondered Noriko.

__

Watanaka’s frown didn’t lessen.

__

“But it is not yet absolute. If he _does_ come asking, the Yamanaka will contradict what we’ve submitted in his name.”

__

The elderly woman hummed thoughtfully, drumming her spindly fingers on her desk. 

__

“We have been remarkably unsuccessful in manipulating the Yamanaka clan as a whole,” Noriko said, sounding serene in her disappointment. “No doubt do to with the unfortunate incident at the power station. I don’t suppose you can think of a way to convince him to assist us in our efforts?”

__

Watanaka snorted, insolent to the last, but it made her point. 

__

“Very well,” Noriko said after a moment. “I trust that you will find another way to get him out of the way?”

__

Smiling viciously, Watanaka nodded, then bowed and left without a word. 

__

Finally (not that Taka was in any kind of a hurry), Noriko turned to Tobirama’s assistant.

__

“Taka, my dear, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

__

Taka held out the scroll. 

__

“For Uchiha Gorou. From Tobirama.”

__

“Ah, excellent,” Noriko said and reached out her spindly hand for the scroll. “I’ll take it for now. Come back in a few hours. It should be ready by then.” 

__

Taka nodded, and went off to finally start her lunch.

__

From there, the scroll sat on Noriko’s desk for less than twenty minutes before Elder Omura strolled in, arms crossed and hands tucked up his sleeves. 

__

“A bird told me you have something?” he asked his old friend, who nodded to the scroll as she sipped her tea. “Excellent.”

__

He took the scroll off her desk, and tucked it up his sleeve, his ever present benign smile not wavering as he bowed and left.

__

From there, the scroll travelled across the Senju district unnoticed, passing by houses and shops to Omura’s own home, down the stairs, into his basement, where the Elder’s son in law sat passing an evening in the quiet. 

__

“Here you are. From Tobirama. I trust that you know what to do?”

__

The son-in-law nodded, and took the scroll.

__

Omura’s son-in-law, whose name no one really bothered to remember, as he wasn’t a Senju by anything but marriage, was nothing special really. Dull, rather simple for the most part. He was, however, originally from an interesting clan. One whose bloodline left him able to manipulate ink, even that which was long dry.

__

Like that on the scroll. 

__

And it made him an especially good forger.

__

So, when the scroll left his possession two hours later and made its way back to Omura, to Noriko, to Taka and finally to the Uchiha it had been intended for, it was remarkably different then when it had begun its journey. So much so, that when the Uchiha received it, a good six hours after he should have, it made his face turn red, fury etched into the lines of his face. 

__

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. The scroll spoke for itself. So instead, he penned out a simple complaint to the Hokage about his _asshole_ of a younger brother, attached it to the scroll, and politely asked the young and pretty Senju who was saddled with what must have been the worst boss ever if she wouldn’t mind delivering both of them to the Hokage?

__

She smiled at him with shared sympathy. 

__

“Of course, Uchiha-sama. I’m heading back that way anyways.”

__

He humphed. “Don’t let that bastard work you too hard.”

__

Taka shrugged, and made a show of being the helpless young admin who was so unlucky as to have _Senju Tobirama_ as a boss, and left. Walked the scroll back across the village as the sun was setting and took the stairs up to the Hokage’s office, where her friend Mitari was manning the desk just outside of it. He raised his eyebrow at the scroll in Taka’s hand.

__

“Another one?” he asked, sounding slightly horrified.

__

“You can’t honestly say you’re surprised. You know what he’s like,” Taka said.

__

“I know, it’s just…” Mitari trailed off, looking at the door to Hashirama’s office, “The Hokage-sama really doesn’t need this right now.” 

__

Taka shrugged, deposited the scroll on Mitari’s desk anyways, and left.

__

Mitari stared at the scroll for a moment longer than he should have before he sighed. Taking it, he knocked on Hashirama’s door, and entered on the Hokage’s say so. 

__

The Hokage, who was reading a letter, looked very grave. Mitari didn’t have the heart to bring this latest problem to his attention just then, so left it on his desk on top of all the other piles, and slipped out without a word.

__

And what was the Hokage reading that had him looking so upset, upset enough that his own assistant didn’t have the stomach interrupt him? Well, it was a relatively simple letter. 

__

So much so that it boiled down to three simple points.

__

First, that even as far away as the Land of Whirlpools, word had reached the Uzumaki Headman about the malcontent Hashirama’s own brother felt against his leadership. Secondly, that the assurances of his ambassador that he had things well in hand, however firm, would not be sufficient unless they were backed up with action. And lastly, that there was no way, not even the slightest chance, that he would risk marrying his eldest, favorite daughter, to a man who was on the verge of being overthrown.

__

In total, these points boiled down to one, simple message: _Get your house in order._

__

Hashirama dropped the letter to put his head in his hands.

__

Where had it all gone so wrong?

__

Never, even in his wildest dreams, had Hashirama given serious thought to the idea that Tobirama was anything but loyal. Sure, they had had their disagreements; what brothers hadn’t? But they were _family_, the closest each other had left. 

__

During their childhood, Hashirama couldn’t help but be jealous of his younger brothers. All of them, really. It was just that they got to actually _be_ brothers, while Hashirama wes held apart. Above them as the first born. Hashirama had never understood the stake his family put in that. Especially when he was very young, when he was pulled away from their lessons, their training sessions, anytime, really, when they, Itama, Kawarama, and Tobirama all got to be together. Be brothers together. While Hashirama was forced away, apart, unable to stay.

__

Hashirama remembered one morning, when his father interrupted his own private lessons to send him to fetch Tobirama. Hashirama didn’t remember what for, or really even when it had happened, only that Tobirama was still Tobira, the brother with the gentlest hands, who held the others when they cried, came in and helped Hashirama with his homework, finishing it for him just so that the elder could maybe get some sleep for once, even if Hashirama didn’t want to sleep, not when actually having time with his brother was a possibility. Who never gave him a choice in the matter, but stayed with Hashirama and read to him until the future clan head couldn’t keep his eyes open. 

__

He remembered standing in the doorway, watching as the others began their day as they always did, in a tradition he was excluded from. Itama smiling, carrying on the conversation nearly single handedly, until he teased Kawarama into contributing, stealing his brother’s book. He went to dodge the dull practice kunai Kawarama threw at him in response, but Tobirama caught it midair from his place between them. His back was to Hashirama, but Hahsirama could nonetheless tell how the other two quelled before his unsaid censure, calming down, but… Itama put the book aside and beamed, undaunted, and this time, when he tried to draw Kawarama into the conversation, it happened easily. 

__

Soon, they were laughing, happy, content. And Hashirama’s heart ached at the memory. Especially with what followed, when Itama noticed him.

__

_“Anija!” he had cried, “Are you here to join us?”_

_Hopeful, as always. Even Kawarama looked to him, whipped his head around, and while his face didn’t give him away, a lesson he was still mastering, his eyes couldn’t lie in conveying just how much they wanted him to stay_.

_Tobirama knew better. Had stood up, and turned to him, face blank, and asked what their father wanted._

_He knew, as Hashirama did, that he’d never be allowed to stay. This was Tobirama’s place, and Hashirama had no part in it, much as he despaired of it. This was their reality._

__

Hashirama sighed. 

__

It was a fact of life that the few short years that separated he and Tobirama was like a chasm between them. There, and immovable. Placed by their father and their clan. Hahsirama hadn’t even known where to begin trying to mend it, before it was too late. Before their father lay dead, and the only two other people who mattered, who could have helped him show Tobirama that the gulf really wasn’t so wide that they couldn’t cross it together, were long since dead and buried.

__

He’d tried his best to reach out anyway, to show Tobirama how much he wanted him by his side, but... 

__

Perhaps this was it, the moment he had to admit what was always true: he didn’t know Tobirama, his only surviving brother, at all.

__

But he never would have thought it possible for him to have misjudged Tobirama so thoroughly.

__

He had thought he could convince Tobirama that this Village, peace itself, was possible. More, that it was worthwhile. 

__

He had thought that the more he involved his brother, the more he would _care_ about Konoha. 

__

But he watched as Tobirama delegated those responsibilities, as if they weren’t all busy. Watched as he shirked every request, and blamed his laziness on others. 

__

So, he tried giving Tobirama different work, work he thought his brother would more enjoy, some of which he did, but much of which was sent back to Hashirama’s desk with complaints attached regarding Tobirama’s noncompliance (like the one that Mitari had no doubt just given him, if Hashirama was any judge of his old friend’s expression). 

__

So, he’d thought maybe missions would be more to his brother’s liking. He tried to find ones that gave Tobirama a chance to work with the other clans, which would, if nothing else, show Tobirama that the other clans were just as invested in Konoha too; that peace was _working._

__

But even this scheme had only yielded more disappointment.

__

And now, it appeared his brother had gone beyond obfuscating the truth. 

__

Instead, Tobirama had started _lying_ to him.

__

Hashirama had the medic’s report, clearing Tobirama for duty with a clean bill of health, the chakra exhaustion he had cited nowhere to be found.

__

And Hashirama didn’t understand _why_. Why would Tobirama lie? Why when it could be so easily found out?

__

Could his elders be telling the truth? Could Tobirama be planning to usurp him and disband the village, plunging them back into war?

__

He didn’t want to believe it, hadn’t for months, had spent that time trying to desperately prove that it was everyone else who was mistaken. A few stray grudges against his fearsome brother. 

__

But word was coming from every corner now. The things Tobirama told him, said to his face, just didn’t match with what _everyone_ else was saying; worse, it didn’t even match the official reports his brother made. 

__

Hashirama had tried reaching out to his brother, had tried offering to meet with him privately to talk about any lingering resentments, but he’d been turned down. Taka was adamant that despite her insistence, Tobirama had decided he was ‘too busy’ to meet with his older brother. Tobirama hadn’t even had the courtesy to mention his refusal in person. 

__

Were they really that far gone that they could not even find time to speak to each other? 

__

Hashirama had to admit that perhaps this was a problem, a disconnect that he just couldn’t solve, not when Tobirama was so obviously unable, _unwilling_ to meet him halfway.

__

When Madara had demanded Tobirama’s life as payment for peace, Hashirama hadn’t hesitated. It took him less than a moment to know that he would easily give his own life in the place of his last brother. Gladly. 

__

But now, he was facing the reality that _peace_, the only thing he had dreamed of for as long as he could remember, the one thing he would give anything to achieve, might be impossible so long as Tobirama was around to oppose it.

__

The sun was setting outside. Everyone else had gone home, save for his guards, but they were on the roofs outside, eyes outward instead of in at Hashirama’s order, and so, in the privacy of the evening, with no one around to see, he wrapped his arms around his torso and tried to contain the turmoil inside. And if a few tears fell as he laid his head down on his desk in his own despair, well, no one was around to see them. 

__

-

__

If Madara didn’t know any better, he would think the Senju was doing this on purpose.

__

He had been looking for Tobirama for the better part of the day, ostensibly because he had business with the man. It was nothing that he couldn’t have sent through their relative assistants, but Madara wanted the pleasure of informing the Senju that he was benevolently taking some of his “overwhelming” tasks off his plate.

__

Madara was determined to take a more active role in the village, now that his neglect was becoming more and more stark by contrast, and he was… surprised, after asking Hashirama for a project of his own, to find out how much doing that appeared to require interacting with Tobirama, who’d already been assigned all the interesting jobs. (Some half-baked scheme to make the man care more about the village if he had a hand in its development.)

__

From the things Hashirama said, things that were all over the official reports, he thought finding Tobirama would be a relatively simple task, completed by walking the short distance between their offices. He was… less than pleased when Tobirama’s assistant, a suspicious looking Senju woman, said he was “out”, and couldn’t offer any further information than that. 

__

So, irritated, Madara had gone looking at the next most obvious place for a slacking younger brother.

__

Instead of locating him at his house (empty of all chakra signatures), Madara decided to try back at the Hokage tower. Surely he must be back in his office by now. 

No Dice. But he’d been back there recently enough, that after nearly lighting her paper’s on fire, Tobirama’s assistant remembered that he’d gone off to look at the reservoirs on the far side of the village. 

__

He’d got there to find that the man had been there, but was now off, probably to the academy at this time in the afternoon. 

__

The headmaster at the academy sent him to the land being surveyed for communal training grounds. 

__

A Sarutobi sent him off somewhere else. 

__

And so it had gone, Madara following - apparently just behind - an ever flitting Ghost, chasing his shadow halfway across the village, then back, then to the far gate, until he finally snapped at the powerstation, finally almost repaired. 

__

The powerstation, after its near fatal disaster, was one of Tobirama’s bigger, and more sensitive projects. Surely, he would find the man here. 

__

If he didn’t, he was going to ambush the man in his home. See if he didn’t. 

__

“You just missed him,” Morinoka, the pretty blonde Senju apparently in charge of the power station’s repairs told him with a sunny smile that made Madara more irritated by contrast. 

__

Morinoka sent him a knowing look at his frustrated sigh. 

__

“He’s a very busy man,” she said, a little chastising. 

__

Madara glared. He was starting to realize that. He didn’t think Tobirama was actually doing all the projects on his plate. By all accounts, he _wasn’t_ doing those jobs, instead dumping them off on poor beleaguered underlings, like this smiling Senju, to cover his own laziness. 

__

Apparently, that was not the case. 

__

It was evening now. He’d spent the _entire day_ trying to track the irritating Senju down, and realizing each and every time that he’d just missed the man by minutes.

__

He didn’t care if Tobirama was Hashirama’s younger brother. He was going to set the man on fire if it was the last thing he did.

__

“I think he went to see the Aburame about something,” she offered as he tugged at his hair in frustration, before going back to work in a blatant dismissal that made him seethe. 

__

Madara wanted so much to roll his eyes. He didn’t. But he wanted to.

__

Instead, he went to the Aburame complex, where a man, in a high collared coat and sunglasses that left his face unreadable, answered the door. Madara ignored the slight buzzing coming from the man as he asked, for what seemed like the ten-thousandth time today alone, if Tobirama was here.

__

“He’s gone to the hospital. He had a meeting with the director that couldn’t be put off.”

__

What. The fuck. 

__

Madara was about ready to breathe fire. The sun was setting. It was _evening_ now. He'd been doing this all day.

__

Fucking hell.

__

Madara stomped to the hospital, not making any effort to hide his annoyance, which had the benefit of letting him walk right by the front desk, up the stairs all the way to the director’s office and past her glorified secretary cum door guard. 

__

“Uh, Uchiha-sama?” she said, a feeble attempt to stop him that he ignored, and just walked right into the hospital director’s office.

__

Empty. Dammit.

__

Well, besides the hospital director, who, startled, scrambled to her feet.

__

“Madara-sama! Is there something I can help you with?”

__

_Again_.

__

“I’m looking for Tobirama,” he gritted out.

__

“Oh!” she said. “He was just here.”

__

Clearly.

__

“Why?” Madara asked, fed up. Nothing made any sense. What was Tobirama even doing here? Getting the hospital set up was one of Hashirama’s projects. 

__

The question seemed to puzzle the directory. She tilted her head. “Pardon?”

__

Madara felt his eye start to twitch. He’d spent all day looking for Tobirama, and more and more, the question that presented itself was _why_?

__

Why was Tobirama so busy? Hadn’t he dumped all of his responsibilities onto his less competent underlings? Wasn’t that what he’d been reading over and over again for weeks now? How Tobirama’s deliberate mismanagement had galvanized others to take up his slack? 

__

That didn’t match the day he’d just experienced second-hand at all. Madara had “just missed him” all freaking day. What the hell was the Senju even doing that had him meeting with all of these people?

__

“Why was Tobirama here in the first place?” he demanded.

__

“Oh! Well, he came by to make sure that the hematology equipment we requisitioned had made it to us without any further problems, and to discuss the plans for expansion. Apparently, the new clan that joined, the…” she paused to shuffle through the papers stacked on the desk, evidently looking for the name of the clan in question, but Madara didn’t really care about that mineutia in the wake of the other glaring issue.

__

He had a more important question. 

__

“I thought Uchiha Ren was supposed to be coordinating with you for such things.”

__

The director’s face noticeably soured. 

__

“Yes, but he was less than efficient. It was just easier to go straight through Tobirama.”

__

Which. Was directly contrary to everyone else’s reported experiences with the younger Senju.

__

“Easier?” he asked, and couldn’t quite hide his disbelief. Neither Ren, who was working directly under the Hokage, nor Hashirama himself, had indicated that the responsibility for the hospital’s inventory had shifted to Tobirama. 

__

The director nodded. “He’s very committed to the success of this hospital. In fact, he was instrumental in getting us up and running so quickly, and even supervising the installation of much of the equipment personally. Apparently, he managed the Senju hospital himself.”

__

… Every new thing he learned about the Senju was a surprise. Madara was really getting sick of it. 

__

“Fine,” he said. He’d bring it up with Ren later. “Do you know where he went?”

__

But she shook her head. 

__

“I didn’t ask.”

__

Madara felt very tempted to snarl in rage, but he reigned himself in, if barely. It wasn’t her he was angry with, even if she was useless.

__

“Fine,” he said, and headed towards the door.

__

“Wait!” She said, and he looked back to find her walking around her desk. 

__

Madara finally assessed her. She was middle-aged, a well deserved status symbol in the shinobi world. Such people we valued in the Land of Wind, as they were here. By her makeup, she was a member of the famous Houki Clan. Vaguely, he wondered what had drawn her here, and if again, his wayward Senju had anything to do with it. 

__

He found it annoyingly likely. 

__

She stopped, standing in front of him, like a parent scolding a rambunctious child. He glared at her, but it did not deter her. 

__

This, ironically, only endeared her to him more. Frustrating woman.

__

“Whatever it is you need of Tobirama,” she said, “Just, keep in mind, he’s got a lot on his plate. Try not to make it harder for him?”

__

He glared at her again. That was the second time someone had accused Madara of making _Tobirama’s_ life harder, not including the time just weeks ago when the man himself made that claim. 

__

“I’ve been looking for the bastard all day to take something off his plate. It certainly isn’t my fault he won’t stand still.” 

__

Why did no one understand that he was trying to _help_ the man, damnit.

__

But this woman ran a shinobi hospital. She had seen far more terrifying things than an offended Uchiha, and didn’t flinch. Just stood there, judging him. 

__

He didn’t need this. Madara turned to leave again.

__

“In that case,” her voice came from behind him, “I can tell you that he’s most likely scouting the south side of the village, in the woods by the river.”

__

Madara looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at her.

__

“He’s in charge of planning the defenses.” 

__

Madara fought the urge to curse, loudly. 

__

Everyone knew that. It was supposed to be Tobirama’s _only_ real duty right now, his main focus, even if the nineteen other places Madara had dogged him today had _nothing to do with that_. 

__

She continued, her amusement at his frustration obvious in her voice. “It’s behind schedule, since _someone_ keeps sending him out on missions. I don’t doubt he’ll be out there until well past dark.”

__

He heard the criticism in her voice, and decided not to care about it this time either. He was trying to help the man. If he couldn’t be grateful for it, that wasn’t Madara’s problem.

__

And maybe it was also that Madara had no idea what to say to that. So, he just nodded. And left.

__

He didn’t even set her desk on fire. 

__

He let himself be filled with purpose. 

__

One more place to try, and then he’d ambush him. The man had to go home eventually. 

__

-

__

Tobirama knew he should have taken the advice of the Yamanaka medic and not made any clones today, but he honestly didn’t see what choice he had. 

__

There was so much work to be done, and Tobirama hadn’t been lying when he’d said that falling further behind would have done more harm than good. So, he had made the executive decision to leave Izuna without a minder, thereby cutting the amount of clones he was using in half. 

__

He had done the math, run the risks, and come to the realization that if he put the clone to work, dared to risk instructing it through some relatively simple meetings, then he could focus on the more complicated ones, give them the prep and attention they needed. 

__

If they were both as efficient as he thought they could be, then he might actually be able to catch up. Catch up, and then force himself to rest, recover a bit. Besides, it had been months since the other man had shown any fluctuation, whether good or otherwise. He would be fine for the intermittent time between Tobirama's meetings.

__

He still spent more time then he should have, staring at the unresponsive man, trying to convince himself that the worry he was feeling was his own as he explained to the body, his only companion of late, that he would be alone for most of the day, trying to convince himself that it would be _okay_ to leave him unattended, even for a few hours. 

__

He hadn’t really been successful, but he was out of other options. If it meant leaving Izuna alone, then so be it. As it was, the current situation wasn’t helping anyone. 

__

(He clearly wasn’t making any progress waking the other man anyways…)

__

Even so, Tobirama had made good use of the _hiraishin_ symbol he’d etched in the other man’s room, and had carved out a few, brief moments of time to visit and make sure the other man was still breathing.

__

It was evening now. He’d finally dispelled his clone, and he was on his final task before he could return home. 

__

Even so, this task demanded all of his attention.

__

The village defenses were a mammoth project, months in the making, despite still only being in the beginning stages. In some ways, they were the most important item on his never ending list, and he’d devoted a considerable portion of his packed day to prepare for this meeting. After all, proper planning is always the variable that most influences success, so he made time for it, for prioritizing this. 

__

(And taking Kagami home after the boy had found him just as he was about to head south to the woods. Kagami had wanted to come along, but had been a long day, week, month and though Tobirama was loath to disappoint the young boy - Kagami was already too used to people having too little time for him - and _had_ been disappointed, so Tobirama, against his better judgement, had let Kagami ride on his shoulders to the back side of the Uchiha Complex. It had delayed him, but it was worth it.)

__

Now though, he was in a hurry.

__

He flitted through the forest of the southern woods like the Ghost he was so often accused of being. The name had once been a burden, a cruel joke that other, stupider people would attach to him to try to make him feel inferior. It hadn’t worked then and it didn’t work now. Such things served their purpose, and a fearsome reputation had saved him much time and energy.

__

Still, reputation or not, he was on his guard. 

__

This was once Uchiha land, contested, as all of it was, and Tobirama knew them vaguely enough to begin forming a picture of the outposts and fortifications that he was planning. Perhaps even the feasibility of building a wall inscribed with the famous Uzumaki barrier seals, once their Hokage’s future wife arrived.

__

He had no doubt that one day, the village would reach even all the way out here. Better to be prepared and allow the room to grow now than try to rebuild their defenses wider later.

__

The chakra in his feet let him bounce from branch to branch with ease.

__

It also let him feel Madara, coming in like a comet from the corner of Tobirama’s awareness, bright, burning, and closing in fast. 

__

Since their last few encounters, Tobirama hadn’t been avoiding the other man, per se. He was certainly busy enough to have no need of it, but he also knew that the Uchiha had been dogging his, and his clone’s, steps for most of the day. 

__

Checking up on his work? Such a thing seemed more than likely. But equally possible was the idea that Madara wished to find Tobirama and reignite one of their prior conversations, something the Senju was happy to avoid in public.

__

But it looked like that would no longer be his decision alone. If Madara wanted to talk, then talk they would, but at the very least, he would not run from him like a coward. 

__

With his next leap, he aimed for a break in the branches and let himself fall through the leaves to the ground. 

__

And waited. Impatiently. Not for long, but all the same. He was already tight on time.

__

“Senju!”

__

The other man fell into the clearing not ten feet in front of Tobirama, clearly seething.

__

Tobirama just raised a pale eyebrow at him.

__

“Uchiha,” he greeted in turn, serene. Madara looked like a bird who’d been harassed all day, thick hair ruffling like battered feathers. He wondered, vaguely, what he could have done to rouse the Uchiha’s ire today, but decided it didn’t matter. He would find out soon enough.

__

There was a long pause while Madara gathered himself, the calm before the storm. For all that the Uchiha had apparently been in such a hurry to find him, he now seemed to be lacking anything to say.

__

Tobirama knew Uchiha, had devoted much of his life to killing them, and knew when one was about to lose his temper. On another day, he might’ve even appreciated the man attempting to quell his first, likely poor, reaction for a more tempered one. 

__

On another day, he might have been more patient. Could hear Hashirama’s admonitions that Madara was _grieving_, don’t make it worse.

__

But they were all grieving. And Tobirama was tired.

__

“Was there something you needed, Uchiha?” 

__

He had tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible, but he had never had a conversation with the other man that didn’t feel like a battle. This one would be no different if the way Madara’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed were any indication.

__

“I’ve been looking for you.”

__

Obviously. Tobirama didn’t say it, but he made no effort to keep the thought from broadcasting clearly across his face as he crossed his arms.

__

“You’ve found me,” he said, instead of ten more cutting remarks he discarded. “Now, what do you want?”

__

He knew he had misstepped instantly. Perhaps it was all the time he had spent with Izuna. The younger Uchiha had always felt remarkably like the elder, and Tobirama had grown used to letting his tongue run loose. But they were not the same, and Madara had more reason then most to want Tobirama dead, had made no secret of it. 

__

And he was capable, that was for certain.

__

Madara’s spine straightened, his head tilted, and his narrowed eyes bled red.

__

Tobirama waited. He could _hiraishin_ away, but…

__

He had decided to stop running.

__

“I’m waiting,” Tobirama said.

__

Madara measured him like, looking for all the world like one of his hawks. Ready to sink his talons in. 

__

Then, finally, something loosened. His shoulders sagged, and Madara just… huffed. A disgusting, disappointing thing. 

__

“You’re a hard man to find,” the Uchiha said. “Harder than you should be. Every time I think I have you, you slip away again.”

__

_Ghost._

__

He didn’t say it, but Tobirama heard it all the same.

__

“I am as you find me, Madara-sama,” Tobirama replied, almost respectful. 

__

The _sharingan_ narrowed. The earth beneath him gave no sound as Madara took a step towards Tobirama. Then another.

__

“Are you, really?” he demanded, stalking forward, closing the distance between them with menacing intent.

__

Tobirama held his ground, even found it in himself to glare back. 

__

He was just so _tired_. Of all of it.

__

“If you have something you want to say-”

__

Madara _moved_.

__

Tobirama had never fought his Anija’s rival. It was never his place, for one thing. For another, it was not much of a secret that he would lose.

__

But not without a fight.

__

Madara hadn’t drawn a weapon, so Tobirama didn’t have time to either. Their bare hands were more than enough regardless. The Uchiha’s haymaker smashed into Tobirama’s forearm, might have broken it had he not reinforced the limb with chakra at the last moment. 

__

As it was, Tobirama danced out of the way, dodged with a whirl, but Madara was there immediately.

__

Tobirama could feel his heart race as he tried to keep up, but it was clear Madara wasn’t, wasn’t _serious_ about killing him. Wouldn’t have announced himself so precipitously if that had been the aim, but...

__

This dance had been a long time coming. Tobirama fell into it like the old friend it was.

__

After all, like he’d said, he’d been fighting Uchiha his whole life.

__

In some ways, fighting Madara was nothing like that. Izuna had been slippery, clever, and mean, but Madara… 

__

Madara was like a hammer-blow, an avalanche, a forest fire; a natural disaster racing forward with untold potential for destruction in his wake. He hit hard, matched Tobirama move for move, but never drew a weapon, never used a jutsu, just fought, barehanded catching and deflecting Tobirama’s counters with counters of his own as they flew through the woods, further and further from the village and the lives that bound them.

__

Here, in this moment, there was only this.

__

It was surprisingly easy. Simple. Well, simpler than the life Tobirama was quickly finding unbearable.

__

Back and forth, the rhythm of the fight like waves as they clashed, broke apart, then came together again.

__

It was a dance, one which they both knew all the steps to, but...

__

Faster. Tobirama could feel it like a crackle in the air, lightning about to strike, Madara-

__

Something shifted. Broke. Like a harsh, anarchic, _wild_ thing, and the hatred the Uchiha were famous for, that which even Tobirama knew to fear, flooded out, dark and oppressing.

__

Like lightning springing free from the clouds, something animal had shifted in Madara. 

__

With a cry of genuine rage, the Uchiha had finally had enough of the dance, seemed to remember all at once that this was his _chance_! To avenge his brother and all the rest of his family that Tobirama had slaughtered! 

__

When the end came, it was with a crack, sudden, as the Senju took two blows he couldn’t even see and ended with his back, half shattering a tree that creaked with the force. 

__

Madara’s hand at his throat, not squeezing the life from him, not yet, but his _sharingan_ whirled with that deadly intent, spiralling nearly out of control.

__

Tobirama barely dared to breathe, didn’t so much as twitch as he waited.

__

Perhaps this would be it after all. He wondered, vaguely, what Madara might tell Hashirama. Wondered if it would matter either way.

__

But the Uchiha didn’t press, didn’t wring Tobirama’s life out of him like the Senju expected him to. Instead, the gloved hand fell to the top of Tobirama’s breastplate, held on to the reinforced steel as the Uchiha leaned into him. 

__

“Why?” Madara’s question whispered against Tobirama’s neck. “Why did you get to live?”

__

The words were followed by a hitching breath. A sob. Tears.

__

And Tobirama had no idea what to do. Never in a thousand years could he have imagined that this evening, the events of today and all the days that had preceded it, would lead him here. 

__

“I don’t know,” he answered. Because he didn’t. He didn’t know why it was he who had lived, had survived his childhood, his life thus far, when so many others had deserved to live more.

__

He didn’t know if it was the right or wrong thing to say, but the Uchih- Madara, seemed to sag. Let Tobirama and the tree behind him take his weight as he cried.

__

Tobirama had never been particularly good at comforting people. Hadn’t even known how with his own brothers, certainly not with a man he thought an enemy, but...

__

He knew what it was like to grieve and have no one to turn to. Madara had lost everything, just as Tobirama had, and he was not altogether lacking in compassion. Not yet.

__

So, he took the weight, brought up his arms and fought the desire to cough, flee, do something other than just stand here, letting Madara cling to him like a child.

__

Fortunately, it didn’t last long. Madara gathered himself and let go. His overwhelming grief abating just as quickly as his wrath had.

__

When he brought his head up again, his eyes had faded to black, and Tobirama had just a moment to recognize that they were mere inches apart before-

__

Madara kissed him. 

__

-

__

Whatever Madara’s intentions had been, this certainly hadn’t been included in them.

__

It was just, for one moment, his mind had gone quiet, and he hadn’t felt so damn lonely and this was a terrible idea, this man had _kil_\- was kissing him back.

__

Silence. Blessed focus on only this.

__

And it was insanity. Pure and simple.

__

Madara pulled back. Took a step back. Then another.

__

The Senju looked… annoyingly unruffled for what had just transpired, face as infuriatingly blank as always.

__

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Madara said. “I’m sorry.”

__

And the Senju. Tobirama. Measured him. Tilted his head and Madara would give anything to know, just once, what he was thinking when.

__

The Senju closed the distance between them.

__

“Don’t be,” Tobirama said.

__

And kissed him again.

__

-

__

Tobirama came home far later than Izuna was expecting. He wasn’t meant to be gone for more than a few hours at a time. Izuna didn’t want to worry, but he was. 

__

Even the cat was complaining. It was long past dinner time.

__

He was relieved when Tobirama finally opened the door to his room. 

__

The man shifted, awkwardly in the doorway. Izuna felt puzzled anew. 

__

What on earth was wrong with the man? Had something happened?

__

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, voice more distant than Izuna had come to expect from his rival cum caregiver. “I was… delayed.”

__

_Yeah. No shit._

__

Izuna figured he had been successful in conveying how unimpressed he was with that answer, but as it turned out, Tobirama answered the unasked question.

__

And, oh, how Izuna wished he hadn’t.

__

“I had sex with your brother.”

__

… _What?_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Another long wait, but at least the chapter is long? I’m sorry, I’m the worst. But to be real, the response to the last chapter was amazing, and overwhelming, and absolutely unreal, so thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> It has been an annoyingly eventful month since my last update. For those of you curious, my last job did not pan out, involving far more scorpions and cleaning toilets than I had bargained for (long story), but I have since moved onto greener pastures, but unfortunately that means long hours and significant mental exhaustion after trying to learn (again) a new computer program. Then, the dreaded family time and like, thirty Christmas parties in the Doom that is The Holidays. I am more excited than I ever should be to just get a minute to myself.
> 
> As such, the majority of this chapter was written in the last two days, and I wanna give a huge shout out to LostInThePines who’s been super supportive and the best sister ever who not only helped me with editing it as I wrote it, but helped divert some of the family time so I could try and eek a few paragraphs out at a time. 
> 
> Also, shout out to everyone who commented and left kudos, or even just lurked. I can’t stress enough how much all of you have kept me going. Seriously, I might have just given up by now if not for you all.
> 
> Much love,  
-Moth


	8. Chapter 8

It really didn’t matter how much Izuna tried to make sense of it. It just wasn’t- _What??_

Izuna knew his brother fairly well. Far better than the Senju Brothers seemed to know each other, and one of the many, many things he knew about Madara was how much he _loathed_ Senju Tobirama. 

But then, he also knew that Madara was an _idiot_. Especially about the people he chose to have sex with.

For fuck’s sake... 

As if they didn’t have enough problems. Honestly, he never thought he would say this, but he expected better of Tobirama.

Especially as the Senju seemed to consider the topic closed. Didn’t even bother to explain. Just sat at his desk and got to work as if that one, completely outrageous proclamation was all he had to say on the matter. 

_Hey!_ Izuna thought, as loudly and clearly as he could.

The Senju _ignored_ him. He knew he was ignoring him. 

_I know you can hear me, asshole!_

(Feel him? Sense him? Whatever it was, he knew that the Senju knew what he wanted and was just being an _obtuse asshole_.)

_HEY!_

The Senju _sighed_. Finally!

“It was really nothing.”

_Bullshit,_ he thought loudly, succinctly. 

Which made Tobirama sigh again.

“The importance society attatches to sexual intercorse is vastely over-rated. Release of oxytocin chemicals into the bloodstream are responsible for the majority of the illusion of ‘bonding’ between partners during a sexual encounter. In many cases, this leads to an imbalance in the weight placed on the relationship by the various participants, as the release is not constant or consistent between individuals or even individual experiences. Better to just not put any importance on it at all.”

_... You’re so full of shit._

“However, there are some physiological benefits that occur as a result of coitus, stress relief among them. I hardly think a post-spar handjob in the forest should amount to anything more than that.”

Oh, gods. That was more than Izuna ever, _ever_ wanted to know about his brother, or the Senju for that matter. He was judging them. What were they thinking?

And also, while that was clearly Tobirama’s opinion, Izuna knew his brother. Knew that he was incapable of being smart about anything where emotions were involved.

But even more irritating was that Tobirama was not answering his actual question! He didn’t care, never ever wanted to know, actually, about the details of the encounter. He wanted to know the _why_ it had happened.

Why, oh why, did Madara think having sex with Tobirama, of all the people on the planet, was a good idea? Why did Tobirama _let_ him?

And if it was post-spar, why were they sparing in the first place? Tobirama was exhausted. Izuna couldn’t even open his eyes and he could see that. He hadn’t even had enough chakra to muster a clone today. Was Madara blind or just being a dick, because there was absolutely no way Tobirama would agree to a spar in the state he was in.

Unless… Madara hadn’t asked.

(About the spar. But, also, maybe -_no_. Madara wasn’t that. Wasn’t like that.)

But Tobirama didn’t seem injured from the spar or otherwise. He wasn’t upset, either, just… indifferent. 

And it was seriously freaking Izuna out. 

He had been frustrated since first waking and finding himself in this position, but holy shit. If there was ever a time to be entirely unable to ask questions, be able to force Tobirama to answer those questions, this was it. 

It was the worst.

(What the fuck was going on out there?)

He couldn’t get past it. It didn’t make any sense that they’d willingly sleep together, but, if Tobirama said it happened then it must’ve been consensual on both sides, but even that still didn’t make any sense.

(And, what if he was wrong? What if Madara was so maddened that he’d snapped?)

Madara _hated_ Tobirama. Almost as much as Izuna did. And that hadn’t changed. Since noticing the first time that Izuna was desperate for any and all information about his aniki, Tobirama had kept Izuna posted on Madara’s… well everything. His state of mind, health, whatever Tobirama could observe at a distance, and the Senju had made it clear that even now, months later, ‘at a distance’ from Madara was still the safest place for Tobirama to be. 

Tobirama would’ve told him if that had changed. (Right?)

So, _why_ had Tobirama agreed to sex? 

Why had Madara even asked? Offered? How had it even come up in the first place? 

_What the fuck had happened?_

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“I see you still somewhat disturbed. Hmm…”

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_Yeah. No shit._

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“If you are concerned,” Tobirama began in his typically bland manner. “I can assure you that it was entirely consensual.”

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That was (quietly) very nice to know for certain; that Madara hadn’t changed so much as to be unrecognizable.

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Tobirama had been open about his concerns about Madara’s mental fortitude with Izuna, of the rumors coming out of the Uchiha Clan that his Aniki was unfit, and that the clan might not support his leadership for long. (Though, that much had been evident in the way Hashirama had won the Hokage position by a landslide, all but uncontested by the Uchiha Clan. It was clear simply by the numbers that a good portion of Uchiha had voted for him as well.)

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Izuna understood. Madara was grieving. He wasn’t in a good place right now, but he would recover. Sooner, if Tobirama could figure out how to wake him, he was sure. 

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It was more than slightly relieving that he wouldn’t be waking to his brother as a total stranger.

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But this reassurance, grateful for it as he was, _still_ didn’t answer any of his fucking questions!

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Izuna stewed, as fiercely and loudly as he could, goading Tobirama into continuing, which he did a moment later. 

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“And in any case, there are only two reasons why your brother would select me as a partner,” the Senju reasoned.

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_Yes! Finally. Why?_

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“Either, it is all part of an elaborate plan to get closer to me to quicken my demise,” -_What?_\- “which is unlikely, given how easily he bested me. I presume he would have just killed me then, as your brother does not strike me as being particularly subtle.”

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Which was fair, Izuna supposed, but also what the fuck? Tobirama had sex with someone he wasn’t even sure didn’t want him dead? What kind of moron-?

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But before Izuna had time to give that the rumination it deserved, Tobirama continued. “However unlikely, it is still a possibility, especially given the noticeable escalation in your family’s hostility towards me.”

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Another very frustrating thing. At first, Izuna had been touched, vindictively pleased that his family made attempts to avenge him, however small and petty, but now... Now that he had seen Tobirama put up with all the bullshit of Uchiha being late to meetings, of them shifting their work off onto the already beleaguered man, of their attempts to delay or hinder missions they were sent on with the Senju, if they showed up for said missions at all...

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After watching Tobirama come home and stitch himself up because his Uchiha teammate let through an enemy’s blow. After watching Tobirama shrug it off like it didn’t _matter_ that they were-

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Izuna loved his family. He did. But their penchant for revenge was nothing to be laughed at. It could consume them, easily. Izuna was no exception.

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But it all felt so _wrong_ now. Now that Izuna knew the man better. Now that Izuna knew that Tobirama was worth knowing.

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In fact, it was possible that Tobirama was one of the best men he had ever met. For all that he was utterly infuriating.

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“The second possibility,” Tobirama continued, oblivious to Izuna’s turmoil, “and the one that is eminently more likely, is that your brother was merely seeking comfort from any source. It is most likely that I was simply convenient.”

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…That was… _fine._ Usually. But Izuna knew Tobirama, or at least he hoped he did by now. The man was-

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A lot. A genius, a killer, a _warrior_, but also, kind. A man who took care of wayward children; who took on too much work for too little credit. Who seemed to have _no one_, if he was talking to _Izuna_ of all people about this and everything else he’d shared with a nearly dead man. It had become clear long ago that Tobirama talked to Izuna at first because Izuna didn’t like it when the man was just lurking in the room with him, and then because he had no one else to talk to. 

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All of which made the idea that Tobirama was so sure that those two, frankly terrible reasons, were the only two reasons someone would want to have sex with him was… kind of awful, actually, and Izuna made no bones about pretending otherwise. 

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He disapproved, loudly.

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Tobirama must have picked up on it, because he, by the sound of it, spun in his chair to look at Izuna.

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He sounded a little offended when he said, “I do not think that the desire for companionship, especially while grieving, is unnatural. Your brother is no doubt still suffering from the loss of yourself. If I can do anything, especially something as simple as that, to assuage his perpetual loneliness, then it is no trouble, even if it did make me intolerably late.”

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Of course, _of course_, Tobirama sounded more annoyed about being late to a meeting than having sex with Izuna’s brother. 

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And also, he’d entirely missed what Izuna was confused (upset) about. 

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Izuna thought that he could maybe guess Madara’s motivation, and it likely wasn’t what the Senju thought it was. Madara was just an idiot. 

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But that didn’t explain Tobirama. Izuna _knew_ Tobirama was smarter than that, knew better than to have sex with someone who didn’t- who he didn’t think-

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Cared. At all.

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Tobirama didn’t continue speaking for a long time, and when he did, it was in the tone he got sometimes, when Izuna was reasonably certain Tobirama was no longer talking _too_ him, but more _at_ him.__

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(Recently, he had figured it was because Tobirama so clearly didn’t _have_ anyone else.)

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“... And perhaps I too am in need of companionship, even at the most base level. Things have been… difficult of late. And lonely.”

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Oh. Well. 

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That-

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Sucked. A lot. 

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The Senju cleared his throat awkwardly.

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“In any case,” he said, “as I’m sure you are aware, shinobi are notoriously lax in their sincerity towards their licentious liaisons. Our lives allow for little else. It was, as I said, a one time event of convenience, so you needn’t worry. It is unlikely to decrease his enmity towards myself.”

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… What?

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“He is as unlikely as yourself to forgive my transgressions against your family,” the Senju said, and then his tone turned sardonic. “I somehow doubt that having held you captive for months will do any good in that regard, even _if_ the byproduct is your continued survival. It will likely make no difference.”

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That’s not- _What?_

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Did Tobirama really think that after _all this_, after everything Izuna had witnessed, had seen, had _learned_ about the other man, that Izuna would still want to kill him. Want him dead?

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The turmoil Izuna felt was entirely different now, a twisting, writhing thing. Guilt. And uncertainty. And _anguish_.

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On behalf of a friend. His friend. Tobirama was his friend. And he didn’t like it, this. At all.

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(How could Tobirama not _know_?)

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“In any case,” the man continued in spite of Izuna’s sudden desire that he shut up, for once and _listen_. (_Please. It’s not true._) “It was once. I can’t imagine that I will be privy to a repeat performance any time soon.”

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This time, when the Senju fell silent, he couldn’t be convinced to speak again, no matter how much Izuna begged.

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Madara could admit, at least to himself, that he was avoiding Tobirama. If the other day had taught him anything, it was that the younger Senju was very, _very_ hard to get a hold of, so avoiding him should have been relatively simple. 

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It _wasn’t_. Which was insanely frustrating for many reasons. 

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Firstly, it meant that Madara found himself at loose ends, since Tobirama had his hands on nearly every project in the village that didn’t have to do with foreign affairs directly (which was apparently Hashirama’s own personal hell. And, looking across the office at the Hokage, Madara could tell that his old friend was buckling under the weight of _just that one area alone_. He didn’t know how Tobirama was somehow managing to get so much done, but then, he wasn’t thinking about him. Much). So, getting something productive to do away from Tobirama, almost invariably involved talking to Tobirama. Or about him. 

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Fuck that guy. 

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But then, he wasn’t thinking about that either.

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And there he was again. Thinking about not thinking about it.

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Obsession was something that Madara was familiar with. All Uchiha were. He was usually better at tempering it. 

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He used to have Izuna to temper it for him. To call him an idiot; tell him, ‘Eyes off, aniki. Focus.’ 

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But he didn’t have him anymore.

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And now he’d slept with the man who’d taken him away… It had seemed inevitable at the time, but it sort of made him feel sick now. 

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It shouldn’t hav- he shouldn’t have let it get so far.

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For Uchiha, love and hate were known to go hand in hand, but Madara didn’t-

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He hadn’t meant for it to go that far. It was just, so rarely did he feel anything anymore. Anything but cold grief, like he was drowning under a sea of ice, slowly numbed. Unable to break through. 

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Everything was grey, dying, except... Except when he was with Tobirama. Then it was heat. Rage, at first.

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But it had become something else while he wasn’t looking.

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Lust. Pure and simple. He was sure that was all it was.

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Somewhere, in the mist of the fight he couldn’t stop, the feelings of rage and lust had merged, burned, and for just one moment he had felt something break through the ice, quickly followed by many other things, feelings, all at once. Suddenly, he was gasping for air.

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And Tobirama had obliged him. Gods only know why. 

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_“This changes nothing,” Tobirama said after he’d stood, dressed, then disappeared without another word._

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Now, Madara had no idea what to do. None. (Except avoid the bastard, obviously.) 

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And he didn’t know why he was feeling so _guilty_.

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It clearly hadn’t meant anything at all to the other man, either, but now Madara had no idea where they stood.

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The situation between the two of them used to be perfectly clear. Enemies for life, with Izuna’s death forever between them, like a line etched sand that would never be crossed.

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Madara had ruined that. Jumped, lept with both feet across that line to land them in some other, undefinable relationship. To say the least.

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Worse, he could barely walk out the door without being reminded of the man at every turn.

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The construction crews, who's banging about woke the whole Village up with the sun, were under Tobirama’s direct supervision; the roads Madara walked down had been laid out and paved at Tobirama’s direction, the power lines that flew above like interconnecting vines: Tobirama; even the pipes that brought the water for his morning tea, were Tobirama’s fault.

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Madara couldn’t wake in the morning or walk down the street without seeing Tobirama’s fingerprints everywhere. 

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It was infuriating. Even meeting with Hashirama, not to beg for something to do, but… he desperately needed something to do, and the Hokage was the only one other than Tobirama who could give him something. And since he really couldn’t stand being in the same room as Tobirama right now, let alone walking down a street he’d helped design….

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It wasn’t that Madara was ashamed. Not really. It was, of course, a lapse in control, but it “changed nothing” so Madara had nothing _to be_ ashamed of. Right?

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Right.

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So, why could he barely meet Hashirama’s eye? 

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And why couldn’t Hashirama take pity and _stop talking about Tobirama?_

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“I swear, I don’t know what to do with him. He says one thing, and then does another. It’s, I don’t know what to do anymore,” Hashirama whined, looking sad and lost in a way Madara hadn’t seen since the war. 

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Madara closed his eyes to suppress the awkward cough that wanted to rise in his throat. 

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Why this subject? Why now? 

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Six months ago - hell, three days ago! - he would have been thrilled to hear that Hashirama was reaching the end of his rope where his brother was concerned. It had certainly taken long enough. 

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The Hokage had given his younger brother innumerable chances to get involved in the Village, make peace with the other clans, generally support his older brother. And at every turn, Tobirama seemed to drag his heels. Sensitive reports were late, if they arrived at all. There was a literal mountain of complaints about his ineptness at working with others. But he turned straightforward missions into disasters. 

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It was incredible how long Hashirama had been patient with Tobirama, especially with such insurmountable evidence of his younger brother’s efforts of sabotage. 

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Except, he wasn’t so sure anymore. His escapade around the village three days ago, chasing after the elusive yet ever present man, had given him a good survey of the differing opinions about the albino; which only led Madara to becoming confused, and conflicted about what had once been a certainty.

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A concerningly few number people told him what he had expected to hear - what had been reported ad nauseam: that Tobirama was useless, didn’t answer questions or calls for help, went out of his way to insult and harass the people beneath him who were just trying to do their work. 

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But then, there was everyone else. Everyone else who was in awe of the sheer amount of _work_ Tobirama was doing. That the other man might be short-tempered, but it was because he was clearly, hilariously overworked. They seemed unanimously convinced that Tobirama was trying his best for them. For all of them. 

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Madara didn’t know who - what - to believe, and that was before he’d come across the man himself.

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Madara hadn’t meant to spar with the Senju, but even if he had, he would have thought that he would have known what to expect, given how many bouts between Tobirama and Izuna he’d witnessed throughout the war. 

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He’d expected it to be brutal. He’d expected water dragons and teleportation. Not what amounted to a purely physical spar.

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Hashirama confirmed that the medics had submitted a clean bill of health on his younger brother, but if that was the case, then Madara was relatively certain that Tobirama had _let him_ win.

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But for what? And why? It didn’t make any sense!

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That Tobirama had agreed to participate enthusiastically in Madara’s incredibly poorly thought out next move made even less sense. 

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“What should I do, Madara?” 

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Madara turned back to Hashirama, realizing that he’d zoned out, thinking about Tobirama, again. 

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Infuriating man. 

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But now Hashirama was looking to him for an answer, an Madara didn’t have one for him.

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So he, like an idiot, said what he’d said a dozen times before, what he would have said before. “This is just what I warned you about.”

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Hashirama _wilted._

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“I know. I just- he’s my _brother._”

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Madara knew that. He also knew that, by his own admission, Hashirama had never been close to Tobirama. 

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It wasn’t odd. Madara knew that siblings rarely got along. That he and Izuna were the exception, not the rule. History was littered with examples of sibling rivalry exploding, destroying families and dynasties alike. 

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Still, Madara couldn’t quite look at the drastically conflicting written reports and what he’d heard first hand, and ignore the possibility that there was more going on here than met the eye. Whether that was for good or ill…

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“Have you tried talking with him?” Madara asked.

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Hashirama _sighed_, and put his head down on his desk.

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“I’ve _tried_. He keeps putting me off. Sometimes, he doesn’t even _respond_ to my invitations. Says he’s too busy.”

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Okay, that was fair, given what Madara has seen of an average day, but, “He can’t just ignore you. You’re the Hokage.”

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Another sigh. Like a mournful cow. Doe eyes and everything. Madara turned away from his ridiculous friend until he pulled himself together so he didn’t yell at him, again. 

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“Every time he does come, we just fight. I don’t know what to do anymore.” There was a cloud of gloom. Madara was sure he’d start growing mushrooms again soon. 

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He breathed hard, biting his lip so he didn’t yell. In the wake of Hashirama’s ridiculous melodramatics, he blurted out the offer. 

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“I could talk to him?” he said, like an idiot. Entirely forgetting that he was deliberately avoiding the man. 

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Madara had no idea what possessed him to say it. It was stupid. Possibly stupider than sleeping with the man’s younger brother in the first place.

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He tried reverse. Fall back. “I mean-”

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But Hashirama was looking hopeful. With sparkles in his huge eyes.

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_Oh no._

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“You will?” he sounded so excited, hopeful. Then, mercuric, perhaps seeing Madara’s panic, the Hokage turned dubious. 

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Madara tried not to be offended as his old friend weighed him up skeptically. But when he didn’t say anything, Madara shifted, and very carefully looked at the wall over Hashirama’s shoulder instead of the man himself.

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“What?” he demanded as the silence lingered, heavy. 

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He was unsuccessful at the whole not-sounding-offended thing. But damn it, he hadn’t even yelled at the man.

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“You don’t even like Tobirama,” Hashirama… accused? Observed?

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That was vastly understating the situation. In fact, Madara went so far as opening his mouth to put his foot in it before he thought better of it with milliseconds to spare. 

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The _last_ thing he wanted to do was admit to Hashirama, _“Hey, that’s not fair. I don’t totally hate him. I slept with him, so there’s that, right?”_

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He was sure that would go over swimmingly.

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In reality, he couldn’t even muster the indignation that accusation probably deserved, not with what had happened the _last_ time he had tried to talk with Tobirama. Regardless of why, Hashirama wasn’t wrong. He probably couldn’t be objective, even if it wasn’t entirely for the reason his old friend thought. Hashirama was right to hesitate.

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Which meant that they still needed another solution.

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“If there are incongruities between reports, have you conducted interviews? Done any investigating?”

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Hashirama moaned and gestured to his, admittedly full, desk.

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“With what time?” he asked, and Madara nearly snapped at him. Self-pity was his least favorite vice; it annoyed him so much in others because it existed so prevalently in himself, but Hashirama continued before he could do so. “And even if I wanted to, I can hardly insult the other clans by hauling their members in and accusing them of dishonesty. Especially since my attempts to do so with my own brother have been so successful.”

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That was an annoyingly valid point. Still, he said, “You have to do something.”

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Another sigh, more heartfelt, heartbroken then the rest.

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“I know,” Hashirama said. “In the meantime, I have a request that I don’t want you to take personally.”

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… Which meant that he would take it personally. Madara felt his hackles rise, but he forced his temper in check.

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“What?”

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“Can you please ask the Uchiha to settle a bit, if at all possible, where Tobirama is concerned? Just until we ca-”

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“Why,” Madara interrupted, “do you assume that it must be the _Uchiha_ at fault?”

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“I don’t!” Hashirama said, adamant. “But I just want to rule out as many things as possible. I know that it’s only been six months, and Tobirama will never be popular with your people, but please. You were Izuna’s brother. If anyone has a right to call a ceasefire on the matter, it would be you.”

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Madara felt like he should be angry. Or hurt. Like the rage that had been building a moment ago should be rising, but instead all he felt was cold. 

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So, this was how it was. 

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“Please,” Hashirama begged. “I know what I’m asking, but it’s _time_, and it might be for their own safety, if…”

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He paused, struggling to find words, and Madara waited, patient, but mostly feeling like he was drowning in frigid waters again. He crossed his arms. The silence echoed, damningly.

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Finally, Hashirama began again, “If my worst fears about Tobirama _are_ correct, just, ask them not to rise to the bait. At least until I can get a more definitive answer about what is going on.”

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Madara bit his lip savagely on several replies that he wanted to spit at his sanctimonious friend. Madara didn’t need protection from Tobirama, the thought seemed a little far fetched, especially after their laughable spar, and the Uchiha could take care of themselves.

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And even if they couldn’t, it was Hashirama’s duty now to protect them. Village before clan, the Hokage was their protector now. Hashirama wanted the position so badly; this was what it came with. Madara would hav-

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Those thoughts were not worth entertaining, and the brief, sudden rage passed, as it often did, and left him feeling cold once again. “As you command, Hokage-sama.”

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Hashirama nodded, and seemed to sag with relief as he said, “Great. Thank you. Really. Now, was there something else you wanted to talk about?”

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But his eyes had already been drawn back to his mountain of paperwork and besides, that was before. Before Hashirama had launched into his rant about Tobirama immediately and not stopped for the whole hour he’d been here, but Madara would rather have sex with the man again than ask to take on some of the man’s projects right now. 

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And wasn’t that a terrifying thought?

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“No,” he snapped, spinning on his heel. “I’ll see myself out.”

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Hashirama was already too busy with his paperwork to say goodbye, let alone question his friend’s abrupt departure. 

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Some days, Madara resented Hashirama the position of Hokage so much it physically hurt. But there were a few days, like today, when he was entirely relieved to have dodged the overwhelming mountain of paperwork. 

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Madara decided to just leave him too it. But not without one further admonishment. To both Hashirama, and maybe to himself.

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“If this doesn’t work,” he said, waiting for Hashirama to look up and meet his eye, “you will have to figure something else out. This can’t continue.”

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And Hashirama looked _devastated_, but Madara stood his ground. This was more important than all of them.

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Finally, Hashirama nodded, and said, “I know.” It sounded like his heart was breaking.

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Such was the cost of leadership. Hashirama knew it as well as Madara himself did. 

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Now, if only he was as able to do the same, he thought.

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Madara went to his office, which, frustratingly, happened to be just beyond Tobirama’s. The Senju’s witch of a secretary glared at him as he walked by. He grinned at the unpleasant woman, remembering with glee how she’s squaked when he’d lit her desk on fire, when the door to Tobirama’s office opened, and the man himself emerged.

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Madara froze, feeling like a Nara deer as he stared at the man who he’d been thinking about not thinking about all day. 

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He had spent all day a few days ago chasing the younger Senju around. That office should have been long since empty if that day was anything to go by, which of course it wasn’t, because Tobirama was nothing if not contrary.

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Tobirama’s blood red eyes found Madara first, gave him a cordial nod that set Madara’s heart pounding in his chest, and then turned to his damnable secretary.

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“Taka,” said Tobirama, holding out a scroll. “I need this to be delivered to the Aburame.” 

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She smiled up at her boss, ditzy and benign. “Of course, Tobirama-sama.” 

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“Within the hour,” the Senju warned her sternly. “It is vital this arrives on time. It’s time-sensitive.”

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“I understand,” she said, still smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, completely ignoring Tobirama’s suspicious glare.

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Madara couldn’t stop staring at Tobirama, at the way he moved. 

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He looked good. 

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Madara _shouldn’t_. Should keep walking. Everything was complicated enough as it is.

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Then Tobirama met Madara’s eyes, and well... There was a fire there, one that kindled something in Madara’s chest. He smirked at the other man, unable to help but remember the broken moan Tobirama had made.

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The man’s face stayed blank, but he quirked his head, the barest invitation to come into his office. 

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That was all it took. With a final menacing smile to “Taka” the secretary, Madara slipped into Tobirama’s office, feeling immensely satisfied when the door slammed closed on her suddenly heated glare.

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He turned to find Tobirama already at his desk, head bowed over what looked like a topographical map of the village. The Senju had a pencil in hand and was marking something on the outskirts.

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Madara couldn’t help but think about the conversation he and Hashirama had just had. Was it possible that the man not ten feet from him really was the most accomplished liar Madara had ever met? Was it possible that he really was everything Madara and Hashirama both feared. 

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More and more, Madara had to admit, it seemed unlikely. But not even that made sense. At the very least, the man was an enigma. One that Madara was more determined than ever to unravel.

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As he felt his eyes wander down the line of Tobirama’s pale throat, seeing the subtle hint of bruising from their last encounter lingering there, he was not as ashamed as he perhaps should have been at how much he was looking forward to it. 

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(Once again, he could almost imagine exactly what Izuna would say, that he shouldn’t be here, that he was out of his _fucking mind_\- but Izuna wasn’t here. Madara didn’t let himself remember why.)

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“What are you working on?” Madara asked as he came over, and Tobirama’s eyes cut back to him. 

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There was something wary there. Apprehensive, and Madara kind of regretted slamming the door. And, you know, coming in the Senju’s office in the first place.

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“Urban planning,” Tobirama answered, “Primarily focusing on the plans for the defenses.”

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That sounded interesting enough. A good enough place to start. 

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“What aspect in particular?” Madara asked, coming closer.

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Tobirama glanced up, as if weighing, judging his sincerity.

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Madara huffed, but waited.

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Straightening, Tobirama didn’t say anything, didn’t mention the oddity of Madara asking, seemingly having decided it wasn’t worth it. Instead, he used the pencil to gesture out to the wooded area _way_ outside the current boundaries of the village. 

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“Here for the outer wall. Further outposts another three klicks out in the cardinal and primary inter-cardinal directions, maned in four hour shifts.”

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“Why so far out?” Madara asked.

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“Taking into consideration the current growth rate, and what my estimations show, in addition to the projected economic trends, if the forecasted cessation of hostilities come to pass as expected, we can reasonably assume that these walls will only be sufficient to contain the village for the next fifty years or so before the population outstrips them.”

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That was surprising information. Madara knew that they were doing well, could see the fruits of their labor being born already, but still...

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“What projections?” he asked.

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Tobirama didn’t miss a beat, sorting through one of his own stacks of paper, noticeably neater than those proliferating Hashirama’s desk. Easily finding what he needed, Tobirama handed them over to Madara, who tried to not take notice of how their hands nearly touched in the exchange. 

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Madara flipped through it. Pages and pages of calculations, mathematics just slightly too advanced for him to make sense of in the casual glance he spent on them, but another thing struck him as odd. 

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His sharingan didn’t lie; these equations were all in the same handwriting. 

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“Who did you get to work these up?”

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Tobirama didn’t look up from the map he had gone back to marking.

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“It was just quicker to do it myself.”

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Madara felt his eyebrow rise.

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“What, you don’t have anything else better to do?” he said. 

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He didn’t mean it to be mocking. It just came out that way.

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Tobirama did finally look up at him, flatly, with one pale eyebrow raised.

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“Don’t you?” he asked.

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There was something about his tone, low and unimpressed and a _challenge_ that made Madara’s blood turn hot.

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And maybe this was why he had come in here in the first place. His lips curled without his permission as he stalked around the desk to invade the Senju’s space.

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“Why?” he asked. Tobirama straightened, turned to face him, and didn’t give way as Madara leaned into his space. “Do I bore you?”

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And he leaned in closer, into the warm he knew dwelt there, but Tobirama’s pale, cold hand on his chest stopped him.

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“I’m busy,” the Senju said. He didn’t shove him away like Madara had half expected.

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And it wasn’t a _no_.

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Madara opened his mouth to speak again, when the albino’s head turned suddenly towards the door and he took a full step back from Madara just in time for said door to open. 

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It was one of Hashirama’s guards, looking worriedly urgent.

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“The Hokage needs both of you. Now.”

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All other thoughts left as Tobirama took up his sword from where it rested on a stand behind him. In moments the pair of them were in Hashirama’s office. 

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There were already several shinobi there. Madara recognized a few of them, the Aburame from a few days ago and the hurricane of a woman that was the Hatake Clan head, with more filtering in. Madara took note of the arrival of Hikaku and two other Uchiha, who all nodded and came to stand beside him. 

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“There are reports of an incursion into our lands, by the old Kagane Township,” Hashirama said, as serious as Madara had ever heard him. “We cannot confirm what clan they come from, but they are estimated at least thirty strong.”

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Madara nodded, and said, “I’ll go.”

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But, to his surprise, Tobirama interrupted, “No. If this a serious effort to attack us, both you and Hashirama will be needed to defend the Village.”

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Annoyingly logical as usual. And it won Hashirama over immediately.

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“Fine. Tobirama, you’re in command. I want a strong message, but try to limit casualties if you can. We don’t want to give anyone good cause to continue hostilities against us.”

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“Understood,” Tobirama said with a nod.

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With that, the office had emptied as quickly as it had filled, leaving just Madara and Hashirama again, staring at each other.

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Madara quirked an eyebrow and Hashirama shrugged in response.

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They would just have to wait and see. 

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Three days of rest had honestly been more than Tobirama had hoped Hashirama to be able to grant him. There was no getting out of these mission, and Tobirama knew it. Even if the ilk of this mission itself had been common just after the peace was brokered, they were becoming less and less common as said peace spread. The other clans were still unifying, following Konoha’s example in the way they had predicted. All it had taken was one group of clans unifying to force the others to do the same. Peace was the possible even amongst sworn enemies when confronted with a large enough threat. 

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The uniting of two of the most powerful clans had become that threat. It was join, unite, or fall. 

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But only if Konoha could hold out long enough, because if not, the other clans with their long-standing grudges, would dissolve back into chaos, the common enemy destroyed. And the common peace of Konoha with it.

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As such, the combined forces pushing probing attacks into the old Kagane lands, part of Konoha’s territory now, had to be dealt with. Decisively. 

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He had brought just three squads and two tagalongs to take on the six to eight reported invading. Seventeen against forty didn’t seem like good odds, but they had the home advantage, and he’d brought Hikaku and two of the other best Uchiha melee fighters, two Aburame brothers, a duo of taijutsu users from the south who had just joined up. Tobirama had been unsure about them at first, but they quickly proved themselves more than capable. He’d also brought some Kagane who knew the terrain, and the Hatake Clan head, a fierce woman named Akiko who immediately summoned a giant white wolf to help, and a few others from scattered other clans and independents that he knew to be competent.

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He hadn’t been wrong. 

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They had been engaged for half an hour. The enemy was tougher and more numerous than they had hoped, holding their own well even as Tobirama brought out some of his bigger jutsus. The three days of rest his brother had afforded him had honestly been more than he’d hoped for, and he’d spent most of it meditating, forcing himself to take the time and recover his strength. He was, once again, very behind, but at least his health was returned enough that he felt comfortable creating a clone to watch over Izuna again this morning. 

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He had the basics down for a seal. It was more complicated than it should have been, eating up an entire evening, but he had managed a first stage prototype, had it painted on the backs of his hands for the last three days. It had allowed him to siphon off some chakra, a bit, continually, all day. As he’d run with the group, he had called up what he’d saved. It worked well enough, he supposed, as the ink burned away. He could feel the boost it gave him.

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Not enough to entirely counteract the clone, but _enough_.

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It turned out to be a good investment of time, as the battlefield was a full day away from the village at a sprint (a testament to just how far Konoha’s sphere of influence was spreading). Their enemy had played it safe, set up a defensive perimeter all the way out there, rather than come closer. Likely, this was just a probing attack, meant to judge their reaction time.

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It was unfortunate, as Tobirama would not be back for days, and had no way to communicate with his clone the situation. He would have to rectify that.

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Later. Because equally unfortunate was the skill level that their enemy met them with. The drawn out battle was a testament to such skill. 

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But they were not skilled enough. To the left, the Aburame brothers unleashed their hives, something Tobirama had only ever heard of in rumors. Over the enemies’ screams of horror, he signaled to Hikaku to tell the Uchiha’s to limit their fire jutsus. No need to risk angering their new allies.

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His inattention nearly cost him. An enemy caught his wrist with the chain of a kusarigama, the metal weight wrapping up and around. 

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Tobirama angled his arm to sent the swirling weight back down to his hand where he palmed it. He yanked his hands together into the snake seal. The enemy stumbled, but didn’t drop the weapon. Good.

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“Raiton!” he shouted. A flash of blue electricity raced down the chain in an instant. The wooden handle of the weapon exploded with enough force to send the shinobi holding it smashing into a tree.

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He dodged a kunai heading for his face, grabbed it, sent it back. His hands flew through a few signs. A tidal wave rose from his feet and smashed into the genjutsu users on their left. They had been holding back, waiting for an opening. They wouldn’t find it.

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Five shinobi converged on him. He turned to face them, and they spread out, coming at him from all sides. He prepared to guard, but Hatake raced over to smack back to back with him.

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“Nice day for a scrap, eh Senju?” she asked as she deflected a barrage of shuriken. An enemy rushed her. She broke his knee and sent him flying.

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“Could be worse,” Tobirama said, dealing with his own foe. “We could be on the other side.”

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“Ha!” she barked a laugh. Her large wolf intercepted two more shinobi attempting to approach in what would be Tobirama’s blindspot were he not a sensor.

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Together, they dispatched their other attackers quickly. 

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Tobirama took stock of the situation.The Kaganes had waded into the Aburames’s victims, apparently old foes who had a very… intimate understanding with how their now allies liked to work. Apparently, the enemy had focused their best on the Uchiha, their chakra flaring brightly in the contest. The Uchiha had taken his advice, but the lack of their famed _katon_ ninjutsu was hurting them.

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Tobirama looked to his waning chakra levels, and made an easy decision. If he pushed enough into it, he might be able to scare them off for good. 

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Leaping as high as he could, he called the water he’d already drawn for his tidal wave and more from inside him. One seal later, he called “_Suiton: Suiryūdan no Jutsu!_”

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The water dragon rose before him. Writhing, its massive form turned and spun, coming wide around and over his Uchiha… allies.

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Regardless of his personal problems, his suspected (and sometimes proven) sabotage, this was a joint mission surrounded by other allies. There could be no sign of friction. 

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It helped that, in Tobirama’s limited experience, Hikaku was reasonable at least.

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The dragon smashed into one, two, three of their enemies, sweeping them away and back. It rampaged and lunged towards the enemy shinobi, who tried to regroup and fend it off. They shot their own jutsus at it, but Tobirama pushed more chakra into it. It held steady, full of rage, as it barreled straight for them. They scattered and cursed. 

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Three more hand signs later, he sent a small hurricane their way that shattered the trees they’d fled to for cover.

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None came back. Seemed like they’d had enough. 

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Tobirama landed and went to raise his arm to signal for his team to hold, to not follow, to let them retreat when-

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Sharp, stabbing pain ripped through his side. A kunai from behind him buried itself in the gap in his armor. 

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Tobirama spun. Had his sensor skills failed him? There was no one behind him but allies.

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And an Uchiha he didn’t know with that same look of vindictive victory he had seen on Uchiha faces as they stood over his dead kin.

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Contrary to what Hashirama thought, Tobirama very rarely submitted to wrath. His extreme violence was always tempered by the cool calculations of rational thought. But that boy, a stranger, looking so pleased at stabbing his comrade in the back, sparked absolute fury that welled along with the agony in his side.

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Without conscious thought, he had the Uchiha by the top of his lacquered chestplate, and drug him forward, eye to red eye. The boy’s sharingan wasn’t even fully developed. The smug pride cracked into fear, terror, as hands scrambled, clawing at Tobirama’s wrist as he was lifted off the ground effortlessly. He could crush the boy in an instant.

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But the face, so undoubtedly Uchiha, full of fear, melted into Izuna’s, in the moment before Tobirama cut him down. Into Kagami’s gap-toothed grin. The haze of rage lifted. 

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With it returned the pain. Tobirama shoved the Uchiha away, ignored how his clansmen both had their hands on their weapons, held up only by Hikaku’s raised hand. Tobirama bared his teeth at them and focused.

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It wasn’t worth it. He would not let them push him to break his elder brother’s peace. They would just have to kill him first. 

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The tension could be cut with a knife. All of the shinobi here, his would-be murderer included, were looking to him to see if he’d become the boogeyman of their nightmares, but he wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t be that again. Not while peace was at all possible. 

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With a final glare, he spit the blood that was flooding his mouth to the ground. He must have clamped his teeth down on his tongue at the unexpected pain. Purposefully, painfully, he put his back to them. 

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He found the rest of his shinobi’s eyes on him. Their chakra levels were holding steady, with only a few flaring in pain. 

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Refusing to wince, he reached to the handle sticking out the left side of his back. He was exhausted from the fight, but had enough for a diagnostic look.

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It wasn’t good. A few of his delicate organs had been pierced; his intestine, certainly, and his kidney, maybe a part of his liver. He’d have to burn away the infection after closing the wound. 

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That… could be a problem. He had gone all out, using massive amounts of chakra in jutsu after jutsu. Even with all of his concentrated efforts to recover his chakra, he could feel the familiar exhaustion creeping in, and then there was the drain from the clone he’d left with Izuna. He could dispel it, and maybe have enough to heal himself fully, but they were at least a day’s travel from the village. To leave Izuna without care that long could be fatal. And that was something he was not willing to risk.

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So. Decisions. His mind raced through variables and decision trees, measuring the likelihood of them facing another attack. If they did, and he used all his chakra here, he would be a liability. If he didn’t, he would be fighting injured. The wound would take days to kill him unattended, but a middle ground was required. 

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“What the hell was that, Uchiha? We’re on the same side!”

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Huh. The Hatake woman. Tobirama hadn’t expected an ally.

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“It was an accident,” the young Uchiha protested.

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From the looks that passed between the others, and the way fury etched further in Hatake Akiko’s face, her wolf summon’s growl shaking the ground with his leader’s anger, no one believed him. And they wouldn’t. Everyone with eyes had seen what had happened.

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They all, save for Tobirama and the Uchiha, lacked the context to make sense of it.

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“Bullshit! He saved your miserable hide and you hit him in the back,” Akiko shouted, teeth sharp and feral. “You cover your comrade’s back, not aim for the opening!”

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“Look,” Hikaku, rational as always, cut in trying to return some calm to the situation. “Saito is inexperienced. If he says it was an accide-”

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“Hatake-san is right!” one of the taijutsu users shouted, exuberantly. “Even in inattention, it was dishonorable!”

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More voices, getting louder and angrier joined. Tobirama’s side hurt.

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“Enough!” he shouted through bloody teeth. All eyes turned back to him, but he looked to Hikaku. “I bear your cousin no grudge. It was an accident.” 

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Hikaku’s eyes went wide, and he looked confused for a moment before the Uchiha shutters fell. He bowed to Tobirama, not a hair more than was necessary, and waited until the rest of his clan did the same. “You are too gracious, Senju-san.”

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Hollow words for a hollow sentiment, but Tobirama accepted them all the same. They needed to be heading back. 

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His eyes were stone as they swept over his squad, his subordinates, in a way that made it clear the matter was closed. Most looked away, willing to accept his judgement, but Akiko ground her still bared teeth, clearly deciding whether or not to do as he asked. For all that she only met Tobirama twice before today, both times in passing, her anger seemed extreme. _Perhaps it was a clan ideology of loyalty, tied perhaps to their contract with wolves?_ the ever running curious side of his mind questioned.

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There was a silent battle of wills between them, and Tobirama was sure he sent _don’t_ too loudly to be ignored.

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Sure enough, after a moment, she dropped her eyes. She tisked, unhappy, but looked away, quietly murmuring, “Fine. Your funeral.” 

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Because she was a Clan Head and because he was tired, he let the insubordination go. 

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He sat down in the dirt and ignored all of them. Letting himself hesitate for just three bracing breaths, he reached around and pulled.

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The kunai felt worse coming out than it had going in. He took care to match the path exactly to avoid further damage, but it still hurt. It took everything he had not to let the pain show on his face. Feeling the blood run freely down his side, warm even as he felt himself growing cold, made him shiver as he flung the kunai into the ground beside where he knelt.

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“Senju-san,” Hikaku began, but came up short as Tobirama sent him as bland a look as he could muster. The Uchiha was reaching for him, and Tobirama thought he could just maybe see guilt there, but it was not enough. After weeks, months of sabotage, Tobirama would not have accepted Uchiha help even if it was offered. He was sure that was written all over his face.

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He looked instead to Hatake Akiko.

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“I need to focus. Spread out and watch the perimeter.”

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She nodded sharply, and turned to the others, barking out orders. 

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Technically, Tobirama should have given command over to Hikaku, in deference to his seniority, despite his youth. However, considering the circumstances, he wasn’t sure that the squad could hold any kind of cohesion if he tried to give Hikaku command, as, for now, all the non-Uchiha members were eyeing them with suspicion. A good commander does not give orders he cannot be sure will be obeyed. 

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And maybe he was feeling a bit petty. Well, he wasn’t a good person, anyways. Ask anyone.

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He used his bloody hands to undo his armor. The Uchiha had aimed well, blade striking the gap between the chest and backplate, scrapping the blue lacquer as it went by and through. His undershirt was a lost cause, drenched and sticky with the sickening slickness of his blood, so Tobirama used his own kunai, clean and sharp, to cut it away and give himself access to his wound. He closed his eyes and focused on channeling his chakra into his hand as it turned a mellow green. 

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Healing himself was delicate. It was always difficult, and he hadn’t really tried it beyond practicing on occasional cuts and bruises. It was generally better, as a rule, to let oneself heal naturally rather than force things along, but the theory was sound. The sharp, still stabbing, pain added a new distraction that made his chakra, what little he had left, want to flare restlessly. He clamped down on the impulse, and focused on healing, neatly ignoring the way that the effort made his brow sweat and his chest heave. He only had just enough to do the essentials after all.

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He knitted, slowly, carefully, the damage to the organs first, and then purged the damage done by the leaking intestines. It burned, hurt like nothing he’d attempted before, but he didn’t lose his head. He kept calm and focused, as he knitted together the pierced abdominal wall, his sliced muscles. The surface wound was still oozing and deep when he relented. He couldn’t spend much more chakra without releasing the bushin, and that was not a risk he was willing to take. 

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His eyes opened and he took a deep, shaking breath. It would have to do.

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A thick pad of gauze and a bandage appeared in front of him. Tobirama looked up, surprised to see and feel one of the Aburame brothers standing next to him. His face was entirely obscured by the high collar of his coat and the dark glasses he wore, but Tobirama knew he was watching him carefully.

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Tobirama nodded his thanks but ignored him for the moment. Instead, pulled together his hands in an Inu seal and said “_Suiton: Futtōsui no Shibuki_.”

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With as little chakra as he had left, it was unsurprising that he only brought forth a trickle of steaming water condensed out of the air rather than the scalding waterfall he was usually capable of. It suited his purpose. Holding and manipulating it with perfect control, he cleaned the wound with the scalding water, another agony in a long list, and then his hands.

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“Thank you,” he said as he accepted the still held out gauze and bandage. He pressed the gauze into his wound and very, very carefully did not remember the last time he had had help doing something like this. 

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(Itama, just a week before he had died.)

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On a whole, life was brutal and short, but just now, as always, he missed his brother. He didn’t let the thought linger. Instead, he wrapped the bandage around his torso to hold the gauze in place as best he could. 

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When he finished, he stood, steady even with the minor lightheadedness. He felt the sixteen individuals he had brought here, all with their eyes on the woods surrounding them rather than their downed squad leader. He frowned. One of the taijutsu users, the younger, was wounded, had a broken ankle, and two independents were nursing sprained wrists, likely from the spinning combo move they'd tried early in the fight, and one of the Uchiha, not Hikaku or the "inexperienced" one, but the third, was facing chakra exhaustion to rival Tobirama's own.

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They couldn't leave the border undefended. The attack had been filled with a higher caliber of shinobi, and greater numbers, than they had anticipated. Hopefully, that indicated that this was the only push they had planned. But it might just be a precursor to a larger scale attack to come. 

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Worse, they might not be so overt next time. 

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They would need to keep watch until the next patrol came tomorrow. The injured would be a liability, himself included.

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He would have to rework the patrol schedule. Again. This large a gap had left them unexpectedly open. 

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Regardless, decisive action was required.

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Picking up his armor, he put it back on efficiently, taking care not to wince as he pulled the ties tight. It digging in around the wound, rather than applying pressure directly to it was a fresh, unanticipated agony.

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"Everyone," he called. Bending over, he ignored the flare of pain the action brought and grabbed the handle of the Uchiha's kunai, still covered in his own blood, and yanked it out of the ground he'd buried it in. 

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The others fell in. 

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He faced them. "We will split here. Half will stay to guard the border until the next patrol arrives, or relief comes from the village." 

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His red eyes scanned them all. The Uchiha stood apart, Hikaku and the other flanking Saito, who kept his eyes on the ground. Tobirama slid his attention to Hatake, who had her arms crossed, her wolf seated next to her, it's scarred face level to her shoulder. "Hatake-san, you will be in command here. The Aburame and Kagane will remain with you, as they know the terrain best."

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He looked to the Aburame who'd given him the bandage, Saburō, if he remembered his name correctly, and asked, "Your insects can cover this stretch of the border?"

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He received a silent nod, which he returned. That made six: Hatake, two Aburame, and three Kagane. Two more, he decided, and quickly ran through the deduction of who to leave (not the Uchiha, that would be inviting trouble). The taijutsu users needed to return and finalize their loyalty oaths, but that left few options. 

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"Tokugawa-san, Shiranui-san,” he said, selecting the two independents that had performed best and remained uninjured, “you will stay as well.” 

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He palmed the kunai and walked over to the man who’d thrown it. Saito, and the other Uchiha for that matter, watched him warily, but he just held out the kunai hilt first towards its owner, very careful to show absolutely no emotion.

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Saito’s hand shook as he took it back, but Tobirama ignored the boy. Instead, he looked to the others, Hatake and Hikaku especially. 

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“The rest will return with me.”

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The other’s stiffened. Hatake looked ready to protest, but he silenced her with a glare. He knew exactly what he was doing. The last thing he needed was protection from the Uchiha. It’s true, he had let himself grow complacent, trusting that they wouldn’t be so bold as to attack him outright, let alone in front of their other allies. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again. 

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But he couldn’t let more discord be sewn between these new allies than was already done. He would show a trust he didn’t feel, if that was what was required to keep the peace.

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Hatake Akiko looked him up and down, and saw that he would not bend. She nodded, giving in, her shaggy silver hair seeming to deflate with the motion, like hackles finally falling. 

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“Go,” he commanded. Hatake’s squad vanished into the trees.

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Tobirama turned. Though his back was to the Uchiha, he did not ignore them with his sensory abilities again. He never would again, now that the trust was gone. Instead, he walked over to the others, the two taijutsu users and the independents Minamino and Mori (the injured pair), and Kobayashi, who he’d worked with before. 

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They would be slow going, his chakra reserves what they were, but they couldn’t afford to dawdle. 

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He turned to face Hikaku’s wide eyes and said, “Let’s go.”

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He didn’t wait for affirmation.

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They took to the trees as well, and headed back towards Konoha. 

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He let them run for over an hour before the younger taijutsu user began to noticeably flag. His father had taken his arm and hauled it over his shoulder, supporting him as they ran, but even then, he was running out of steam. Tobirama looked up, gauged the sun, then took an honest look at his still bleeding side. 

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A break was fast becoming a requirement, rather than an option. 

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He held up a hand and signalled the stop. 

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As one, they fell to the forest floor in the small clearing he’d spotted. Actively trying to slow his heavy breathing, doubtless contributing to the painful throb of his wound, he took some comfort in that the others looked just as worse for wear. Even the usually unflappable Hikaku was panting. 

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He took a deep, centering breath and focused on expanding his sensor range. He felt all the way back to Hatake's team, and then pushed his senses passed them, scouting for enemies. 

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Wide, in all directions he sensed and found no one beyond those he expected. Even at approximately a sixth of his normal range, he could still look for miles around. Nothing out of the ordinary, to his relief. 

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He even picked up the other patrol, many miles to the west. Four man squad under a Nara, heading towards Hatake's group at a leisurely pace. Clearly, they had not received word to hurry yet. 

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Good. They were reasonably secure then, Uchiha notwithstanding.

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He turned his attention to the taijutsu users. The father was lowering his injured son to rest on the ground with his back to a tree.

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“I never got your names,” Tobirama said.

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They both looked at him in surprise, before the elder straightened and snapped into a bow with more enthusiasm than Tobirama could imagine mustering for anything. 

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“Oh! I am Might Kai! This is my youthful son, Might Sendai! It is an honor to meet such a youthful and powerful captain! Your humility and strength are a marvel, Tobirama-sama. I did not think we would be privileged with a display so soon. Truly an honor! Yosh!”

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Tobirama blinked, and very valiantly ignored the flames that had begun to fume out of the man’s eyes as he flashed an exuberant thumbs up. He looked to the son, and regrettably found a mirror of the father’s look, fire and all. 

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Well. The quiet had been nice while it lasted, he supposed. .

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“Senju Tobirama. Pleasure,” he said, and turned his attention to the Uchiha’s. Hikaku had pulled Saito aside, and likely cast a genjutsu so the rest could not hear the conversation. Tobirama didn’t care much. He looked to the other Uchiha, who was diligently gathering wood for a fire. The other independents were breaking out rations.

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“And you, Uchiha?” he asked.

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Black eyes met his, startled. It took the man far too long to realize what Tobirama wanted, by the time which a genuine scowl had begun. 

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“U-Uchiha Kamura, Senju-taicho,” he said, hesitant. 

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Tobirama smoothed his facial expression. He must be more tired than he thought. Rarely did he let the idiocy of others bother him outwardly anymore. Instead, he nodded to the independents and introduced, “This is Minomino Reo, Mori Kaito, and Kobayashi Hatsumomo.”

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They each raised a hand as he referenced them, waving warily at the exuberant newcomers. 

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Tobirama stayed with the group until Hikaku and Saito returned from their conversation. 

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Tobirama picked a spot on the edge of the clearing and slid down a tree to rest. He closed his eyes, ignoring the murmurs coming from the rest of the group.

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He had made an error today, and a stupid one. All the petty sabotage over the last few months had left him with a false sense of security that all of the Uchiha would be so obliging. He should have known better.

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Especially, after Madara and he... He had thought-

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Well, it didn’t matter what he’d thought. Clearly, he’d been wrong.

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Obviously, this changed the situation. His arm made its way around his torso to press over the wound without his conscious thought, as he mulled over how drastically this would alter things. 

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The Uchiha were escalating, clearly, but Tobirama could guess that Hashirama wouldn’t take action as Hokage against the Uchiha, even in defense of his brother. His prior reports of sabotage had been summarily ignored. If there was no action after this, then Tobirama would have to accept the inevitable. 

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Eventually, the Uchiha would kill him. It might not be now, it might take years, but if they were willing to openly attack the Hokage’s brother in front of witnesses, then it proved a liability to the village regardless of his own survival. In fact, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Tobirama would continue to represent an obstruction to his brother’s dream of peace. 

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He wondered how long, how many reports of the Uchiha’s squabbles with him, would it take for Hashirama to realize that. 

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Perhaps he already had. It would explain why Hashirama looked through him rather than at him now, stony and blank. They had never been friends, not really. Tobirama had never found that particularly odd. They were oil and water really. Always had been. But recently, things _felt_ different. Worse, somehow. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know why. 

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Perhaps, it was that Hashirama knew Tobirama was lying to him? Had been lying. For months. About something undeniably very, very important.

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As with most things in Tobirama’s life nowadays, the matter came back around to the man confined to a coma in Tobirama’s care. After today, he had needed to give serious consideration to what his death would mean for Izuna. 

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The deadline for either waking him, or giving up entirely, was rapidly accelerating. 

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It was possible, if he left proper instructions, that someone else could carry on the life sustaining treatments he had been administering, but it was unlikely that anyone else would be able to carry on with his work of figuring out what was wrong with the Uchiha, what kept him from waking. It wasn’t conceit, but he was aware of his own genius. If he couldn’t decipher the problem, it was unlikely that they would find someone else of equal ability before the effects of stasis became too significant for Izuna’s vital organs to cope with. 

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He wasn’t even sure if he wasn’t already tending to an empty shell. His sensor powers let him feel the emotional imbalance of chakra, but they were vague empathic inklings at best, and Izuna was too weak for them to usually register. Every now and then, Tobirama would get a feeling that Izuna was listening, was present, was angry or sad or humored at the events of whatever book Tobirama read to him that day, but psychosomatic reactions were as much a possibility for Tobirama as they were for Izuna. He wasn’t sure he wasn’t just imagining the feelings in the wake of his ever increasing loneliness. 

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In any event, a new end of life plan was necessary. He had to ensure Izuna, and all his research, would be found in the increasingly likely event of his death. Especially given what the younger Uchiha had come to mean to him. Tobirama was long since out of safe harbors, and regardless of whether or not Izuna was even really there, regardless of the fact that he undoubtedly still _hated_ Tobirama, he was quickly becoming all Tobirama had left.

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(He didn’t even want to think about whatever the hell Madara was up to. If the last several hours had proved anything, it was that letting his guard down had been a _huge_ mistake.)

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Who would have thought that surviving peace-time would be more dangerous than the war?

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Speaking of, he felt Hikaku approaching and opened his eyes. 

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“What is it?” he asked, concerned. Nothing had triggered his senses, but perhaps the Uchiha eyes had caught something he’d missed.

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“May I speak to you in private, Senju-taicho?” said the Uchiha.

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Tobirama looked at him flatly. He was tired. The last thing he wanted to do was have a verbal spar with the man. But after threatening his cousin so violently, he supposed he’d lost that option. 

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Bracing himself, he staggered to his feet. 

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When he’d steadied himself, he realized that Hikaku had reached out again as if to support him. Hikaku dropped his hand when Tobirama met his eyes. 

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Tobirama led the Uchiha away from the camp, noticing that the taijutsu users watched them go. 

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He waited until they were well out of earshot of the campfire before facing the Uchiha. “What is it?” he asked.

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Hikaku hesitated for just a moment too long, but finally met his eyes. "Why did you not take action against Saito?"

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“Action?” Tobirama asked. He thought he had, more than sufficiently.

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“Why didn’t you…” Hikaku trailed off, seeming to struggle with the words.

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Ah.

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“Why didn’t I kill him?” Tobirama clarified.

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Hikaku nodded solemnly.

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Tobirama shrugged. "Accidents happen, Uchiha. I understand."

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Better than most, he could rightly assume.

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"Do you?" Hikaku asked, staring.

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Tobirama shifted his weight, unwilling to be unnerved or upset by the look the other man was giving him. He met his gaze frankly, and said, "Yes."

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Hikaku kept staring. 

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When Hikaku made no move to continue, Tobirama sighed, lightly to not disturb his wound, and said, "We both know why the Uchiha bear ill will towards me. I too have lost brothers, family, and friends. Regardless of what we can hope for, some resistance to seeing those enemies as allies can only be expected, not just from the old and entrenched, but from the young and brash who have not yet learned to accept loss," his eyes looked to young Saito, clearly older than any of Tobirama's brothers were at their deaths but half as wise, seething and sulking away from the group. "To react rashly or judge them too harshly will only exacerbate the issue rather than quell it, and that is something I cannot allow. It will not be on my account that this peace fails. You have my word."

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He expected the Uchiha to threaten him into silence, now. Madara might have done it if he were here, likely would have backed that threat up with real violence. Izuna definitely would have. But Hikaku seemed more even tempered than the clan head's bloodline. 

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"Is there anything else?" He asked when still Hikaku said nothing. 

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"I don't understand," said Hikaku.

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But Tobirama was tired, and unwilling to linger over an issue already long settled. "It was an accident," he reiterated. "By your own accounting and surely by his. The Hokage will hear no differently from me. Now, if we're finished, I am going to go lie down." He'd overdone it already. "Goodnight, Uchiha-san."

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Before he could turn away, Hikaku bowed at the waist and said, "Goodnight, Tobirama-taicho."

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Tobirama left the Uchiha, and all the peculiarities he represented in that clan, and made his way back to camp. 

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He would not sleep, to be sure, but resting his body and eyes for a few hours was the best he could hope for.

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Hikaku watched Tobirama walk away feeling confused. He’d underestimated the complexity of the man, that was clear. But by how much was still staggering. 

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He’d come to talk to the man about Saito. When he’d defended his kinsmen, he’d done so in the heat of the moment, utterly certain that Tobirama was going to kill the boy. 

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But he hadn’t. 

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Hikaku wasn’t sure he would have done the same, had some Senju deliberately stabbed him in the back after he’d defended them in battle. 

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The battle itself had been odd for that reason. Hikaku had obeyed Tobirama’s instructions to refrain from _katon_ jutsus and told the others to do the same, but without the fire jutsus they were known for, the Uchiha were at a severe disadvantage, especially with the mission parameters of showmanship over body count. 

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But Tobirama had taken on more than his share of the enemy, he’d leapt in front of the hindered Uchihas and defended them. Had used the techniques that had so devastated the Uchiha for years in their defense. Had put himself bodily between the Uchiha and a threat.

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And Saito had put a knife through him for it.

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Hikaku had honestly believed, had hoped that Saito had truly intended to hit an enemy, was not so dishonorable as to stab an ally in the back. None of his kinsmen would have done the like, he was sure. 

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And he was wrong. His conversation with Saito proved that. It sat in his gut like bitter acid, roiling, demanding he apologize on behalf of his clan, on behalf of himself for jumping to conclusions. 

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Saito deserved whatever Tobirama wanted to do to him. Madara would have done worse. 

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Yet somehow, Tobirama was unwilling to take action against the Uchiha. 

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It was almost worse than if Tobirama had just killed the boy. Saito’s actions had, perhaps irrevocably, turned the Hatake clan against the Uchiha, if their clan head was any indication. If Tobirama hadn’t intervened and forced the issue, it would likely have been much worse. 

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This was no way to foster peace. 

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Worse, when Hikaku had come here, intending to apologize for his misjudgement, Tobirama hadn’t let him. Had stuck by the excuse of it all being an “accident.”

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Hikaku wondered how many other “accidents” from Uchiha that Tobirama had put up with since the founding of the village, uncomfortably aware that he was not going to like the answer. 

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He had heard of vague instances, rumors mostly, where various Uchiha had acted in some small way to hinder the Senju heir. He’d assumed that the man had reported all of it, and that those responsible were disciplined, even if he personally hadn’t heard of it.

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But now, Hikaku found he would be very surprised if Tobirama had ever reported anything of the kind. It was clear the Senju felt there was too much at stake, that peace should superseed even a traitorous act of stabbing the leader of a combat mission in the back. He wondered what else his clanmates had attempted in the name of revenge. 

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Izuna had been well loved by the clan. He was the heart of Madara’s fire. It killed Hikaku a little more each day to watch their Clan Head wander through life as though his soul had been cut out. It was impossible to look at Tobirama and not see Izuna falling from his blade. 

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It was no wonder the Uchiha were lashing out at him. There was so much grief and resentment there, for Madara’s sake as well as their own. Tobirama was personally responsible for the death of at least three dozen of the Uchiha. There was not a person left in his clan who hadn’t lost someone to Tobirama’s powerful blade.

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But losing Izuna had lost them Madara, and Hikaku had been certain walking into this mission (with no little dred), that he would never forgive the Senju for that. 

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And then Tobirama had stepped in front of him on the battlefield. Had let his foolish, cowardly cousin live. Had taken the time to come speak to him in private despite the pain he must be in and the exhaustion his chakra levels must be at. 

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They were supposed to be at peace. It had been dearly bought, and at Tobirama’s hand, but Izuna couldn’t have died for nothing. Hikaku swore it wouldn’t be for nothing. This peace would succeed if he had to hold it together with his bare hands, and like it or not, Tobirama had become essential to that peace. 

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_The Senju have killed hundreds of Uchiha!_

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_And we’ve killed hundreds of them in return!_

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Peace was a strange thing. It did nothing to quiet the grief they felt, or the desire to avenge those who had fallen. But Hikaku was tired of losing people, tired of counting the members of his family who left against the ones who came back. 

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He just wanted his family to be safe. 

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He wondered if Tobirama felt the same. 

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He wondered if he could do for a Senju what Tobirama had done for the Uchiha this night. 

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He didn’t think he would have. The thought shamed him. 

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No more, he realized. This was going to be the end of it, if Hikaku had to personally dress down each and every Uchiha who acted against the peace. 

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_I will be informing Madara-sama of your disgraceful behavior, Saito. You will abide by his judgment or be exiled from the Uchiha clan. You have dishonored us._

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_He’s a Senju!_

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_And you are an Uchiha! You are better than this. Our family is better than this. You had best learn to live with the Senju, Saito, for all our sakes, or so help me, I will kill you myself._

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_We are at war!_

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_Not anymore!_

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These were words everyone would have ascribed to Tobirama. Everyone knew that the Ghost, the Butcher, would oppose the peace with the same ferocity that he faced everything else with. No one knew how Hashirama had forced his younger brother, the monster without feeling, to accept it, but for months, they had waited, quietly, for Tobirama to use the peace to strike once their guard was down.

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And then it had not been Tobirama who had struck an ally unguarded. Instead, it had been the talented little brat Hikaku had specifically asked along to sink to such a low. Tobirama had ironically been the one to trust too quickly, and been cut by someone he’d clearly categorized as an ally. Hikaku had enough reluctant respect for Izuna’s rival to know that had Tobirama been truly wary of the men at his back (as he surely would have been if he hated them) it never would have happened. 

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If Tobirama was to be believed, whatever his brother had used to force him to accept the peace must have been significant, but…

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He’d said “we.” Said, “Regardless of what we can hope for.” As though the hope of peace was his to foster as well. 

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What did Tobirama actually hope for? Because those words were not of someone who didn’t want or hope for the peace to succeed. 

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Hikaku remembered suddenly, being seven years old when word that the third son of Senju Butsuma, not even ten, had finally been cornered, caught, and killed like a rat. He remembered the raucous party, the drinking, the toasting, the congratulations that had followed. He looked to Tobirama, resting against the same tree he’d left, cradling his open wound. His eyes were closed, but he was too tense to be asleep. Hikaku couldn't blame him.

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_I too have lost brothers-_

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He had never in his life been ashamed to be an Uchiha until this moment.

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Hikaku took a deep breath, firmed his resolve, and went back to camp. 

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Measuring his brother across the space, Hashirama weighed the report the man had submitted not an hour after arriving back in the village and knew that this was it.

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Too long had he let this continue. He couldn’t afford to anymore. Hostilities between his brother and the Uchiha had finally broken out into the open. In front of two rival clan heads. 

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And it was unacceptable.

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He had _told_ Tobirama. _Told_ him. Begged him.

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For as long as he could remember, Hashirama had had one dream. Peace. In perpetuity. 

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With things as they were between Tobirama and the Uchiha, it didn’t look like they’d manage to make it last even a single year.

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And he couldn’t take it, couldn’t look across the space between them and not see that _threat_. 

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He loved his brother, but he loved this village with everything he was. He would do anything to not have to pick between them. The idea that Tobirama would force his hand left him furious and helpless and he couldn’t help it.

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“I’ve read your report,” he began, angry and mean. “And you mentioned an ‘incident’ between the Uchiha and yourself.”

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And Tobirama nodded. _Nodded_. Like there was nothing more to say on the matter.

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Fuck that. And fuck all of this. 

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“Care to be more specific?”

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And Tobirama had the gall to glare at him.

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“Not particularly. It was a minor friendly fire incident. There will be no further damage from it,” Tobirama said. Like he knew that.

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“And you know that, do you? You don’t think that all of the witnesses of this ‘incident’ won’t spread word of it, won’t make things infinitely worse than you’ve already left them?”

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Tobirama opened his mouth to respond, likely with some well reasoned bullshit that would try to change Hashirama's mind but for once, Hashirama was in no mood to hear it.

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He slammed his hand down on the desk.

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The resounding crack shut Tobirama’s mouth.

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Madara was right. It was time.

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“These _accidents_ have to stop. They _have_ to,” he demanded.

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He sounded like his father, their father, and it made his skin crawl and he _hated_ it but he had to- he had to do _something._

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If Tobirama didn’t want to tell him what was going on, didn’t want to talk to him, preferred to lie and obfuscate, then _fine_.

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He would finally find out where Hashirama’s line was. 

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(Pettiness, rudeness, that was one thing, but this could put the very peace in danger, and he would not let all of their work be in vain).

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Tobirama still wasn’t answering him, just staring across the distance between them that had always felt too large. His face was blank, but his eyes were just slightly wider than usual. 

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It didn’t matter. Enough was enough

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“Do you understand?” the Hokage demanded.

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And finally, _finally_, his brother’s will broke. His shoulders loosened and he lost the last bit of defiance that had still lingered in the carmine eyes.

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He bowed.

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“As you wish, Hokage-sama,” Tobirama said, and he didn’t rise.

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Hashirama hoped with all he was that this would be enough, and that he wouldn’t have to go further, that Tobirama wouldn’t _push_ him, that he _meant it._

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The Hokage left him bowing just long enough to make that wish, before saying, “You’re dismissed.”

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When Tobirama left, without a word, he closed the door quietly, respectfully, and just too soon to see his elder brother sag and reach desperately for his chair.

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How had it ever come to this?

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Izuna could admit to being near frantic by the time his caretaker finally came home. It had been two days without word, nothing but a clone growing steadily more erratic without word from its caster, when finally, _finally_, Tobirama came home.

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At least that’s what Izuna hoped it was. There was a crash downstairs and a muffled curse. He could hear his cloned minder get up to go down the stairs and greet its caster, but Tobirama dismissed it without a word. Got something from a cabinet and came up the stairs. That Izuna could hear his movements at all made him even more worried than before.

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It was late evening now, if Izuna was correct. Was it another mission gone wrong? Was Tobirama alright?

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The man came into the room without a word. Izuna couldn’t see him, but he thought the Senju must be staring down at him, before the other man heaved a sigh.

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Izuna could hear and feel the man all but collapse beside his bed. The Senju, usually so fastidious and careful in his care of his kit didn’t even bother to take off his armor and it clanked loudly as Tobirama levered himself to the floor. The bed itself shifted as the man leaned against it with a nearly inaudible groan.

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The sound of something liquid, a bottle opening, and the smell of alcohol, sake, permeating as the Senju took a swig. And then another. 

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Tobirama had never drank in his presence before, had never had so little to say before. _What the hell had happened_?

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But the man wouldn’t answer him, didn’t say a word as he took another drink, then another, until finally, _finally_-

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“If it is more than a lack of action,” the Senju finally began, voice echoing in an otherwise silent room, “If it goes beyond being unwilling to intercede on my behalf, if I myself, by virtue of my very existence, am a threat to the village, than perhaps…”

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He trailed off. 

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__Izuna’s heart was racing. _What was he saying?_

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“Perhaps it would be better if I no longer existed at all.”

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And then he laughed, _laughed_, sardonic and hopeless before he took another swig. 

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“Befitting of a Ghost. Don’t you think?” he asked.

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Izuna, through the blind panic, tried his best to send the clearest negative he could muster. Tried to say _no, it isn’t true, please-_.

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He sent it over and over again, hoping desperately to get through to the Senju. 

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But Tobirama never answered him. Just spent the night there beside Izuna’s bed, leaning back until he fell asleep.

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It was easily the worst night Izuna had ever had.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Honestly, the feedback to this story has been overwhelming. I can't thank you guys enough for all the kudos and comments. You have no idea how encouraging they are, really. As a special treat (and because it was already mostly written before I wrote the last chapter), this chapter's come out early. As always, huge shout out to LostInThePines, who's work with me on this story has been really amazing and incredible and I love her. The next one might take a while, but I thought I'd leave you on this one rather than the last chapter, since it was a bit of a cliff hanger. It's one of my very favorites and I would love to hear what you think! Comments and reviews give me life, but feel free to hit me up on Tumblr or Discord if you want to chat. Handle's the same.
> 
> Much love,  
-Moth


	9. Chapter 9

Nothing.

After Tobirama’s dramatic, desperate declaration Izuna had held his breath. For a week. 

Through that entire, awful night, Izuna couldn’t help but think that this was It. The end.

Tobirama was giving up.

His indomitable rival, the Ghost, the genius, the _man_ was ready, finally, to call it quits. And it had been agony, the waiting. A horrific breath before the plunge.

Somehow, the nothing that followed was even _worse_. He felt like he was in freefall, ready for the worst, and then a yawning pit of nothing. 

That Tobirama had gotten up off Izuna’s floor the next morning and not said _anything_, just picked up the cat from where it was bent on waking him and then he left, went downstairs, lit the incense he always did, made breakfast as he always did, went about his day as he always did, as if everything was fine and fucking dandy when it _wasn’t_. Everyday, every night, every waking moment when Tobirama himself wasn’t in the room with him was another moment Izuna convinced himself that he would never see Tobirama again. 

And then, Tobirama would come and go and say nothing about it. _Nothing_. No matter how much Izuna fretted, how much he worried and pried and prodded, Tobirama refused to do anything but go about his days as normal.

Like this was supposed to be normal. Like that night was nothing that deserved to be talked about. Nothing strange. Nothing to worry about.

Nothing, nothing, _nothing_.

It was so, so much worse than if Tobirama had run himself threw at Izuna’s bedside, because there was the neverending, nagging fear that the minute he left Izuna’s side, he would do it then. Where Izuna could do nothing, would never know what had happened to him. 

He just kept coming back to it, couldn’t think past it, a repetitive spiral of worry and waiting and agony, sucking him down into panic over and over as Tobirama went about his days.

It didn’t help. It didn’t get him out of this bed any faster. Didn’t spur him to a miraculous healing. 

He couldn’t do anything. 

It was still the most frustrating thing in the world

Izuna didn’t even have an idea of what had triggered the declaration in the first place. The Senju gave nothing away, refused to talk about it with the same _obstinance_ that was quickly becoming Izuna’s least favorite thing about him.

Especially in the face of the one thing that had changed.

Izuna had thought that Tobirama talked to him often before, and he had, but it had been sort of mindless, meant only to keep Izuna content. To let him know that he wasn’t alone. Or so he’d figured.

Now though, now everything the Senju _and_ his clones said to Izuna was pointed, focused, _important_.

“Pay attention,” the clone, even grouchier than its caster, said as Izuna’s attention wandered back to panic.

It was trying to teach him the _hiraishin_. From concept to creation to casting. Beginning shortly after he woke on Izuna’s floor after the Worst Night Ever, Tobirama seemed determined to teach Izuna the jutsu’s he had created, including his masterpiece of a teleportation jutsu.

Before that, it was the shadow clone technique. It had taken days, but Izuna thought he would be able to perform the jutsu himself, if he could ever get out of this bed again. 

Before that, it was that fucking water dragon of his, and the sandblasting one, which had only taken an hour, as Izuna was there when he’d made that one and been suitibly amazed at how quickly it had come together for the other man. 

Before that, there were the ones Izuna barely remembered seeing in the field. The typhoon one that had nearly swept him away during one of their endless bouts, the water needles one that _sucked_, a lightning one with the seal that had cost Izuna’s cousin Shintaro his left foot (and had vastly expanded the Uchiha’s understanding of seal work. Tobirama had called it _basic_). 

Before that, there were at least a dozen others that Izuna had never even heard of.

And now this. 

It was clear why this technique was Tobirama’s masterpiece. 

Izuna apparently didn’t even have the “remedial understanding of physics necessary for even a base level comprehension” of the damned thing, so the last several hours had been math, a bit of science, more math, and then full on lectures on ‘space time’ and ‘relativity’ and Izuna was-

Overwhelmed. And terrified. 

He knew what Tobirama was doing. The Senju didn’t even have the decency to be subtle about it. 

_“In the increasing likelihood of my death, it is vital that my work should survive me.”_

And, even worse.

_“I know it will be a burden, but I have no one else. I hope you will not let your personal animosity towards me deter you from using these techniques, and ensuring that the knowledge survives despite its font.”_

No. _No_.

Izuna had tried to close his ears to it, deny him, _“you’re giving up, you coward!”_, but Tobirama could not be swayed. Rather than take any action to ensure his own survival (and Izuna’s for fuck’s sake), he would rather sit here passively and let his death come.

“Death comes for us all,” Tobirama had snapped at him, as if _Izuna_ was the one being unreasonable. “To try and deny that inevitability is immature and irrational.”

Rich coming from a guy who was literally trying to _bring people back to life_.

It was entirely unfair that Izuna couldn’t actually talk. Or move. Or throw the Senju out the fucking window for being an _idiot_.

But he _couldn’t_. Could only lay there and listen while the other ninja tried to cram an entire lifetime’s worth of a _genius’s_ understanding, and knowledge, and invention into Izuna, who regardless of how much he didn’t even want to listen in the first place, _couldn’t_ keep up.

It was too much too fast and the Senju was fucking _manic_ about it. He still let Izuna rest, but the clones were constant again, and he could tell, _knew_ that Tobirama was fully, dangerously exhausted, but the man just didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop. 

Even if he still let Izuna rest when his condition required, it was like there was nothing else now. Even when Izuna couldn’t take any more physics talk, Tobirama filled the time with his plans for the village future, because _“someone should know them, even if you decide not to try and implement them”_ and holy. Fuck.

Please. 

Just-

Stop. Don’t stop. Do something. Anything. Just-

_Stay alive. Please._

-

To Hikaku’s chagrin, despite his best intentions, he had been unable to corner Madara for the past three days. In all fairness, he himself had been more than bogged down just trying to keep the peace in the wake of that stunt Saito had pulled. 

But Madara was always ready with an excuse to put Hikaku off, and, to his shame, he had let him do it. As Clan Head to the Uchiha, Madara was a very busy man.

Only, Hikaku had taken up the majority of Madara’s clan duties in the aftermath of Izuna’s death. 

It should have been Izuna here. Hikaku was proving a poor facsimile for his buried cousin, nowhere near as experienced, nor even very much inclined, to playing at the politics involved in running a clan. It wasn’t - didn’t seem possible - to do it alone. Madara had been - _was_ \- a great Clan Head, but he and Izuna had been a team. 

And now Izuna was gone, and Madara was so much lesser for it. All of the Uchiha were, but Madara in particular.

Hikaku had done his best to pick up the slack. Had tried his best to get everyone settled, accepting of, if not entirely happy with the new reality of peace. Had attended dozens of council meetings, mediated arguments, represented the Uchiha to the Hokage and to the new, burgeoning Village Councils. 

But he wasn’t the Clan Head. 

He could try; he did try. More often than not, he spent his days running himself into the ground doing work that had taken two of his cousins years to perfect; and he spent his nights writing reports of these activities for Madara, missives that Madara signed without even bothering to read. 

At first, Hikaku had been, well, not flattered, but grateful for the trust Madara had put in him, but now he saw the action for what it was. 

Madara didn’t give over his duties to him because he trusted Hikaku. It was just that Madara didn’t care anymore. About anything. 

And Hikaku didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know how to _make_ him care. 

A blind man could see that the village was beginning to split apart at the seams. Subtle battlelines were being drawn, alliances were being made, and more and more Hikaku realized that he was being looked at as part of _the enemy_.

Meanwhile, Madara sat here in the Tower, hiding behind the excuse of being ‘busy,’ when they both knew Hikaku was already doing most of Madara’s actual work. 

There was no denying reality. The man wasn’t functioning. 

Hikaku had been plastering over the cracks. Him and the Hokage both, trying desperately to put forth an illusion of Madara having unmitigated support, but they could only do so much, especially as _both_ Madara and the Hokage’s leadership was being called into question with more daring by the day.

Especially when it came to Senju Tobirama.

Some people in their clan were taking Madara’s silence on the matter as tacit permission, approval even, for Saito’s stupid, reckless actions, and Hikaku couldn’t get the man to do literally anything about it.

And they had to do something. Soon. 

Tobirama had kept the peace on the mission, and apparently with the Hokage, but anything beyond that, fell to the Uchiha.

To Hikaku, who had wanted to address it _much_ more firmly on the mission. Right then. Done and dealt with.

But it wasn’t his call, then. It was Tobirama’s. And the man had chosen to forego justice for peace in the village, even when Hikaku thought that maybe he shouldn’t. That Saito deserved to be punished. 

Regardless, it wasn’t Tobirama’s duty to deal with the problems _within_. The Uchiha were spliting down the middle. A small, but loud minority could only see Saito's actions justified in the wake of the war and Tobirama's actions therein, but some, most, saw and understood as Hikaku did. And that side demanded that Saito be sanctioned. Decisively.

But once again, it wasn’t his call. If action was going to be taken, and it needed to be taken for the village to see that the Uchiha did not tolerate back-stabbers, it had to come from _Madara_, and he had been missing for months. 

Sure, he was still here physically, ghosting around the Uchiha District or vanishing into his office for hours working on whatever it was he had found to occupy his time, but mentally, he hadn’t been present since Izuna had died.

It was no wonder some of the elders were rumbling about replacing Madara. 

It was no wonder the ever increasing efforts to sabotage Izuna’s killer had gone unanswered. 

Hikaku wasn’t even sure Madara would care if he knew. 

But Saito had gone too far, and done it publically. They needed to act on it, needed to punish the transgression before no one in the village trusted an Uchiha at their back. 

It had been far too long since it had happened already. 

Madara, who had been mindlessly signing whatever Hikaku put before him for months now, not really engaging in anything beyond the grief still clouding his vision. Who didn’t seem to care that the Uchiha were struggling to integrate successfully in their new village. Who didn’t seem to care that none of the other families trusted the Uchiha to be their allies. Who couldn’t even be bothered to read the daily reports Hikaku wrote for him, summarizing everything he’d undertaken in Madara’s name…

Madara thought he was fine, thought he was coping, but he _wasn’t_, and Hikaku couldn’t do this alone. 

He wasn’t- he wasn’t the Clan Head. The council of elders only pretended to listen to him, but Hikaku had no authority to issue orders, to force the changes in the rank and file that were _necessary_. The Uchiha were becoming isolated. Battle lines were being drawn and Madara could attend to nothing but his mourning. 

Enough was enough.

“We need to talk,” Hikaku began, hesitantly, as he stepped into Madara’s office.

It was well past dark, and the Hokage’s Tower all but abandoned in respect to the hour. It wasn’t empty, never was, in case of emergency, but Hikaku had made it all the way up here without seeing more than the figures manning the main desk. 

Silent as the grave.

Fitting, all things considered.

Madara didn’t even look up from where he was staring, unseeing, at the papers in front of him.

Hikaku tried again.

“Madara,” he said into the dark. His cousin hadn’t even bothered to turn the lights on.

“What,” Madara snapped as he looked up and then seemed surprised to see Hikaku standing there. “Oh, Hikaku. What-”

But he cut himself off, confused, looking at the clock on the wall, to the moon rising out his window, and back to his cousin.

“I need to talk to you,” Hikaku said, trying to draw and actually keep Madara’s attention. 

A useless effort these days. Hikaku felt himself getting frustrated against his will. 

He loved his cousin. He did. But Madara had tunnel vision at the best of times, and in this... All he could see was his own pain. 

But he wasn’t the only one who was grieving. He was entirely blind to what was happening in his brother’s name, threatening everything around them. 

Someone had to snap him out of it, to make him see. 

“What about?” Madara asked.

As if he didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he really was oblivious to the fact that Hikaku had only been asking about _one_ thing for days. 

Or maybe he just didn’t want to hear what Hikaku had to tell him. At this point, Hikaku wouldn’t put it past him. Madara’s problems with Tobirama were well known and deserved. In fact, they were likely the catalyst for Saito’s actions, and the reason the boy was certain, without doubt that said actions wouldn’t draw any real censure.

Because, sure, Hikaku had been _nominally_ running the Uchiha, but he _wasn’t the Clan Head_. Was only a cousin like the rest of them, and while the more sensible of the family followed him in nearly everything, this one issue left them divided. 

What to do about Senju Tobirama.

Many still called for vengeance, not only for Izuna, but for Madara as well. 

Madara had lost his whole world. His reason for existing, and for months Hikaku had watched as grief haunted Madara’s steps. Their Clan Head rarely spoke to anyone anymore, barricading himself in his house or in the Hokage’s Tower. He wasn’t eating. He barely slept.

He spent ever more time here, away from his family who needed him. Needed him to _lead_.

Hikaku took a deep, steadying breath. He was frustrated (it had been _days_). He was tired. He could not shout at his cousin. 

“The report I gave you. About my mission under Tobirama.”

He didn’t miss the way his cousin tensed at the name. 

“What about it?” Madara asked, voice colder than it had any right to be.

Hikaku had nowhere near the temper of his family. He tended to simmer rather than burn, but-

“Did you read it?”

Madara didn’t even have the good grace to look guilty as he said, “I haven’t gotten to it. Is something the matter?”

“I submitted that report three days ago,” said Hikaku, trying to sound neutral as he accused his cousin. “I _told_ you it was important. You promised me you would read it immediately.”

“I’ve been busy, Hikaku,” Madara told him, snappish and Hikaku- “You know that.”

Hikaku lost his temper. 

“With what?” demanded Hikaku. “What exactly have _you_ been doing?”

Madara looked up with a glare. “Excuse me?”

“Because from where I’m standing, you seem content to wallow in your grief while-”

“What gives you-” Madara began to shout back but-

Hikaku didn’t even so much as pause to listen because he was _angry_. He was angry that Madara was _ignoring_ him, wasn’t _listening_, didn’t _give a shit_ about _anything_ but his own short-sighted grief! 

“-while I try and do what’s best for our family!” Hikaku spat.

Sneering, Madara responded, “And you know what that is, do you? You think you have any idea what it means to-”

But Hikaku began talking over him before he could finish, “More than you do! You hide up here waiting for Izuna to come back-”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“But he isn’t coming back! And ignoring-”

At some point, they had both begun shouting, neither side able to hear what the other was actually saying, too pulled apart by a too little sleep, too much frustration, too much _grief_-

“You’re not the only one who misses him, Madara, but it’s your duty to-”

“Don’t speak to me of _duty_! I am the Uchiha Clan Head and-”

“Then be that! Do your fucking job an-”

But Hikaku never finished the sentence, because his cousin, a man he had known since birth and looked up to for nearly as long, screamed in rage, _sharingan_ flaring with his chakra. Heat crackled against Hikaku’s skin, a warning, a _threat_ as Madara physically flipped his desk full of papers and sent it careening into one of the walls of his office. 

Madara took a full, murderous step towards Hikaku, and the younger man couldn’t help it. 

He flinched back, terrified. 

Madara pulled himself up short as the papers fluttered and fell around him, and Hikaku watched as his cousin tried to wrangle the absolute rage that had overtaken him. 

There were those who said Madara was going mad with his grief. Hikaku didn’t want to believe it. He loved his cousin. But this...

Madara spun. Stalked back to the open window at his back.

“Get out,” he snarled. 

“Madara, I’m sorry, I just- Cousin, please,” Hikaku begged. “Please. I can’t do this without-”

“GET OUT!” Madara screamed, and Hikaku-

Never, in his entire life, had he ever been afraid of Madara. His cousin was a beacon of safety and love. A safe fire to rest against when weary, always warming and gentle in its heat. 

This was not that man. 

And Hikaku didn’t know what to do anymore. Nothing was helping. Being patient hadn’t helped. Being calm. And now, being angry...

That anger had drained to fear, and then to a disappointment so bitter it left his heart feeling like it had been scraped out as he watched Madara struggle against a wrath he could barely contain. 

After Hikaku had done _everything_ for him. Had tried _everything_.

He had never given up on anything before, tenacious enough to almost keep up with the Uchiha brothers that had reshaped the politics of a continent with their might but here, in this, he wasn’t capable. He could barely look at Madara. His cousin wasn’t there anymore, had been replaced by a stranger and Hikaku hadn’t even known. Hadn’t wanted to know. 

It was clear he was just making things worse. 

So, he turned, and left without another word. 

This was all so incredibly hard.

He was surprised to find himself blinking back his tears and set himself once more to face the world as the de facto head of the Uchiha family. If that conversation had made anything clear, it was that the rumors were true. Madara was not capable of seeing past this, might never.

No.

He wouldn’t think that. Instead, he would just have to persevere until Madara found his way back from his grief. 

He hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it. 

-

Suffocation.

A flame, starved of oxygen. Windows and doors closed, silent, tiny licks of burning rage slipping out of hatches, reaching desperately for air, anything, _please_.

But there was nothing. It felt like there was nothing left in his life now but grief.

And the calm he held himself with was nothing but a dangerous facade. All it took was one cracked window, a foot in the door, and the silent lingering threat exploded without warning.

Backdraft.

One that had nearly _burned_ Madara’s favorite cousin. The only one he had left, nearly blown away in the expanse of his _anger_. At himself, at the world, at everything.

He was furious all the time now, or felt nothing at all. He didn’t know which was worse - it was all _ruined_ \- but this must be what it felt like to go insane because he had almost - _almost_ \- and he-

Didn’t want it to stop. Didn’t want to stop being angry. Would do anything to stop from going back to the slow, drowning suffocation, the endless march towards _nothing_.

Through the red, the roaring in his ears, he knew exactly one person who could do that for him, stop him slipping back to nothing, even if it was for just a moment more, and _he_ was three floors up, still working even now.

A better man would have been able to hold onto all the ways that it was _wrong_, that he should be the better man and leave it, him, alone, would know better than to seek him out while this volatile, but if Madara had ever been a good man, that man had died with Izuna. 

And this one couldn’t help himself. 

-

It had been a long and trying day. Tobirama had spent most of it putting out one fire or another, not even counting the two hours he’d spent in the hospital waiting room before anyone bothered to tell him that the Yamanaka, who had _insisted_ he return for a follow up appointment, had been suspended. 

Watanaka had seen him, and she hadn’t softened any towards him since the day she’d delivered him into the world. At least the appointment was short, and at least she could be trusted to clear him for duty no matter what state he was in. 

Tobirama was just glad he had already healed the wound in his side. It could have raised too many concerns for even that old hag to ignore otherwise.

At least the two hours had been put to good use. He’d even managed to do some paperwork uninterrupted, until word had gotten out of his location. He would have felt worse about turning the already busy hospital into a makeshift office, but he was so frustrated by that point he didn’t care.

There was nothing he hated more than wasting time (now more than ever).

Speaking of, the Uchiha in his care was remarkably hostile to Tobirama’s efforts to pass on his knowledge. Perhaps it was because the Uchiha thought it meant that Tobirama was giving up on waking him? That was not the case, but Tobirama was, not for the first time in his life, at an impasse, had been for months. If the solution existed, it was clearly currently beyond his reach.

He could not shield Izuna from that reality. At this point, the best he could hope for was for someone to carry on his efforts and find more success. Perhaps the Uchiha clan would find that success. Assuming they got a chance to try. Tobirama had already altered the wards around his home from their former static state to one that would deactivate after his death. Hopefully, someone would find his captive, and his notes, and continue his work. Hopefully, they would succeed where he’d failed. He did not flatter himself that he was the only one capable of the feat, there was always someone wiser to seek. And perhaps someone else would not have the same pride (_fear, justified_) that Tobirama did preventing them from asking for help.

In the meantime, he had other work to do. He was so exhausted his bones ached, but he couldn't stop. There was too much at stake to give way to weakness.

However, with him being so exhausted, he was doing his best to conserve chakra at every opportunity. As such, he was not moulding chakra, and his sensor skill was confined mostly to the room he was in, but he would have had to have been stone unconcious to not feel the inferno of chakra that flared several floors down.

There could only be one source. A source that was moving closer, out the window and up the side of the tower to Tobirama’s own window and-

Madara stood just inside the now open window, a wraith in the night. His long black hair was inky even against the night sky but all Tobirama could look at were his eyes, glowing, swirling red with a _sharingan_ that matched the lashing chakra prickling against Tobirama’s skin.

Caught.

Tobirama stood from his desk, slowly.

“Madara-sama?” he asked, and the other man-

Finched, winced, Tobirama couldn’t tell for certain what the movement was intended to convey, but he heard the hissed, “Stop.”

“What?”

“Just-”

Tobirama had never seen the other man at such a loss for words before, felt the fury radiating off him, and wondered if this was it, if time was up.

That would be a shame - he wasn’t finished yet - but now was as good a time as another, he supposed. 

When Madara closed the distance between them, Tobirama refused to flinch, to give way at all, but Madara didn’t hurt him, didn’t tear his throat out the way Tobirama knew the other man was capable of. 

Instead, he laid hard, heavy hands on Tobirama’s face - like being surrounded by magma, hardening around him, trapping him there - and kissed him.

Teeth and heat. Tobirama’s perpetually racing mind went utterly silent in the face of the pure aggression in it. 

Madara pulled back, just long enough to say, “Gods, I _hate_ you.” He bit Tobirama’s neck to punctuate the statement.

Tobirama gasped, feeling himself bruise. 

In a way this wasn’t at all like before. Before, he’d been trying to help, trying to help Madara as the other man careened off a cliff into grief, and he should stop this. This wasn’t comfort; it was madness. 

But-

Last time had been something breaking, something sad and lonely. This wasn’t that. Tobirama could nearly feel when the other man’s flaming rage redirected into fiery _lust_, just as hot and violent but focused. Instead of swift hands or solid steel, he was met with teeth, a furious mouth against his own, nearly hard enough to make him bleed, and grasping hands pulling him this way and that to their owner’s liking.

Those bruising hands gripped his sides, lifted him easily and-

This was nothing like before, nothing like the other time when everything was quiet and cautious and sad. This was anger and hate and _hot_.

Tobirama’s hands came up and he should push Madara away, but couldn’t. Didn’t _want_ to.

It was absolutely consuming. Impossible to think of anything beyond this, this man in front of him, and to his surprise, Tobirama was more than okay with that. 

Tobirama hadn’t been able to make his brain shut up for more than a moment in nearly a week, but here he could think of nothing but _this_.

And he _liked_ it. 

He knew he shouldn’t, knew that this kind of behavior was far from healthy, for either himself or Madara (_Gods, I hate you_) but for-

He was allowed to _want_ things. And in this moment, the only thing he wanted was more of _this_.

So, instead of heeding to his wiser instinct, he gripped the other man back, and gave as good as he got. 

-

Halfway across the village, Senju Noriko watched idly the game of _go_ proceeding apace ahead of her, demurely sipping her tea. Mutsuhito was a bit of a blowhard who prefered _shogi_, but he was aggressive, and capable enough to predict at least four moves ahead. Omura, on the other hand, was the only one in the family who could come close to matching Noriko in the game. 

_Go_ had always been her best game. Apt, considering her line of work.

For one thing, it was a particularly psychological game. A person’s _go_ game could always be relied on to reveal his or her true nature. Not the superficialities of politeness, the facade that every human has been taught to wear since the cradle, but to their _nature_. All Noriko needed to know a person’s mind was a single match.

Take Omura. He was a conservative player, a point counter who never lost track of who owned what, who had taken what. On a board filled with black and white, he could tell at a glance where his own weaknesses had been seized on, and he could always be counted on to remember a slight. Small or significant, if ever one needed a reason to go to war, Omura could be counted on to find it. His memory was long, and sharp, and he never lost track of who was in control of the board at every given moment. 

Which was why it was obvious to him, and Noriko, that Omura had already won, that Mutsuhito had pushed too far too fast and missed the eyes about to close. 

It was already over. All Omura had to do now was cut off the last of Mutsuhito’s escapes.

Not unlike her own game.

She had always found it amusing how preoccupied men were with _shogi,_ with their golden and silver generals who needed protecting, with pawns who needed sacrificing. 

In _go_, there are no special pieces. Only black and white. Those for, those _against_, and every one of them was equally useful as they weaved together to create a larger expanse. There was no stone that did not have it’s own value, and nothing laid ever truly went to waste. 

Be they a hospital worker who had lost a brother under Tobirama’s command and had left her resentment to fester. Or a secretary, who thought disliking her boss justified her treason against the village at large, and that when Noriko’s plan came to fruition she wouldn’t be left out to dry, sacrificed for the larger board. Or a team of shinobi who were willing to do anything to see Hashirama replaced for his more sensible brother, a baker in who lived closest to Tobirama with an avaricious soul who need a paltry sum, what amounted to pocket change, to tell her his comings and goings, the first floor admin in the Hokage Tower who the albino never paid any mind to, but who watched his every step in an obsession that would have been unnerving if it were it not so useful, the Inuzuka Clan Head who had not forgotten her nephew’s slights and was willing to badmouth Tobirama with any Uchiha willing to listen, the list went on. And on. And on.

Every move had a price, every stone a motivation to be exploited. After all, the best _go_ players never lose track of the whole board, and between the three of them here, there were none that they couldn’t uncover. 

“Where are we with the Uchiha boy?” Mutsuhito asked, his habirtual gruffness on full display.

Omura laughed, his obnoxious giggling hum that she loathed. “Which one?” he asked. “There are so many to choose from.”

Yes, they were surrounded by the detestable roaches. Noriko looked forward to squashing them. In the meantime though, she knows who Mutsuhito had meant even before he bellowed at his opponent in frustration, “The little one who follows him around like a puppy, of course!”

Ah. That had been an unexpected development, but then Tobirama had always had an incredibly exploitable weak spot when it came to children. Useful, even if Noriko hadn’t quite decided how best to utilize it in this instance. There were still many openings to consider. 

“His parents are still unaware of his apparent… connection with Tobirama,” she answered before taking another sip of the delicately flavored tea. “We will keep it that way.”

“Is that wise?” Mutsuhito asked, clacking down another stone in a move so obvious, she had seen it’s coming five stones ago. Omura countered easily. “Could it not serve to soften Tobirama against the Uchiha Clan as a whole? We’ve seen it happen before.”

Yes. They had. Their current predicament was proof of the disaster that had left. 

Noriko took another sip of her tea.

Omura answered for her, “Of course. That is why the timing must be perfect.”

Mutsuhito huffed, and rubbed his stubbled, wrinkled chin as he glared at the board in front of him, trying to find a way out of the mess. Though Noriko could see a few possibilities still, she doubted he would find them. “There’s that other one, too, the one doing the work.” 

“Yes, he does seem very young,” Omura agreed, leaning back. His smugness was as repulsive as it was ingracious. “Perhaps he will replace Madara when the time comes.” 

Noriko did not think that time was yet upon them, and the workings of the Uchiha clan in general were frustratingly vague. They chose who ruled their family by pure physical strength, the mindless brutes. 

She hummed noncommittally. The two men winced in unison, something that had her hiding the quietest satisfied smile behind her cup, and changed the subject. 

“What of the Daimyo?” Mutsuhito asked, finally placing a stone which all but sealed his fate, the fool, in his haste to change tactics. 

That was a much trickier question to answer. The Daimyo was foolish, and for the most part powerless, but he was gaining prestige the more Hashirama and the Uchiha pandered to him. If he were to come out against the coup once it happened, then, with his newly galvanized power, he could unite the other clans against the Senju.

Not an insurmountable predicament, truth be told, since their nearest rivals, the Uchiha, would all finally be dead, and no other clan stood a chance of openly challenging them. Besides, there was no such thing as a _successful_ bloodless coup. 

No. Blood would need to be spilt, sacrifices made before victory could be assured. A final victory. One that would let them install a _lasting_ peace rather than this facade. 

But still, in this case, such a problem could be mitigated easily enough. She just had to position the board correctly. Tobirama and Hashirama would walk willingly into her trap, soon enough. 

“Tobirama will be sent as the Hokage’s emissary to the Hyuuga to offer peace terms,” she announced. 

Both of them looked over to her, puzzled. 

“Are we not doing what we can to stir Hashirama’s distrust against Tobirama? Surely allowing for such an easy success would give them ground for reconciliation,” Mutsuhito noted, placing another stone blindly that Omura attacked and cut off within the next few exchanges. 

She didn’t sigh, not wanting to offend, but this was why _she_ made the plans, and controlled the board. 

“Hashirama has yet to see the net he is in, and have no doubt that the poison will continue to drip in his ear. Reconciliation is no longer possible, and soon, he will no longer be a threat. No, we must begin to look elsewhere.” she paused to take another sip of her tea. Their game had paused in deference to hers. “The Hyuuga are the last of the great Clans in the Land of Fire positioning themselves against this alliance. If they are convinced, as I have no doubt they will be given the reports from the current ambassador, then it will greatly add to the prestige of the man responsible. Hashirama’s subsequent action against his brother will be ill-perceived in the Capital as a result, enough to influence public opinion there against him,” she explained, as if to children. 

Mutsuhito looked unconvinced. “And you think that Tobirama will manage to convince them? What if he does not succeed?”

“He will. Reports from the current emissary show that they are already convinced, and need only a show of respect, such as sending the Hokage’s brother to treat with them personally, to bring them into the fold.”

_Close enough to strike down,_ Noriko didn’t say. Instead, she waited as the two men played another move, and parried each other. She continued, assuaging, “And besides, he does not know how to fail.”

“He may do it to spite his brother,” Omura said. “He would be right to do so.”

True enough, but, “Tobirama is not yet ready to actively move against his brother. He is too loyal, too dutiful for that, and as yet, he still has other options.”

Omura sent her a sly smile, as he clacked down his last, decisive piece.

The last liberty, last escape for Mutsuhito’s encircled stones was cut off. 

It was over. Playing further would be to neither’s advantage. Omura was too far ahead now for Mutsuhito to recover. 

Game over. 

Mutsuhito huffed at them, but didn’t question her further.

Really, he should have known better. 

-

A chilled hand on his shoulder woke him.

“Madara.”

Startled, Madara’s hand closed around the offending wrist before he could even give it conscious thought. 

But it was just Tobirama.

That thought should _not_ have calmed him down. Should have triggered more alarm, but it didn’t. 

Instead, all he felt was sticky. And gross. 

He realized that he was still holding onto Tobirama’s wrist. Not hard, bruising as it had been, but still, skin.

Madara let him go. Tobirama straightened and took a step back, engaging Madara to look around the rest of the room. He was still in Tobirama’s office, on the floor. And he had an immediate flash of exactly how he got there, of the heat, of the teeth and violence and ecstasy of when it had all finally stopped, and how it had left him so exhausted that he-

Fell asleep. Here, on Tobirama’s floor, mostly on top of the other man. He wasn’t entirely sure how Tobirama had managed to get up without waking him. 

He must have been more tired than he thought. 

In the meantime, he was just glad that the Senju had turned back towards his desk so he couldn’t see Madara try and wrangle the flush that wanted to rise. 

Instead he blinked once, then again, involuntary to get the junk out of his eyes as he sat up and stretched.

The first thing he noticed was that it was still dark outside, the only light coming from a lamp on Tobirama’s desk. Secondly, that his clothes were _ruined_ and that there was a new pair of what looked like the same black linen undershirt and pants that Tobirama always wore under his armor folded next to him. Lastly, that the Senju had, at some point, covered him with a blanket that he got from somewhere unknown. 

He blinked again, and couldn’t help but look to Tobirama again in surprise. The man wasn’t looking at him, already back to work, but-

His hair was damp, freshly showered and redressed. He must have gone home at some point, probably where he’d gotten the blanket. 

Madara realized as the urge to flush died down that he was remarkably unashamed. Especially, when he saw the slightest hint of bruising at Tobirama’s wrists, his lips, and remembered that the other man was if not just as accountable for the night before, had certainly been more than a willing participant. The nail marks Madara could feel stinging pleasantly as he stretched his arms up over his head, ruined Uchiha blacks pooling around his shoulders, more robe like than combat canvas after their rough treatment at the movement, were more than a testament to that.

Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the feeling of muscles pulling, joints aligning. His back cracked twice in protest to sleeping on the floor but he felt… lighter. Better. 

Even if he was relativly certain he stank of sweat and sex and his mouth felt disgusting. It was well worth it.

When his eyes reopened, Tobirama was watching him again. 

Not hungry, not wary, just watching. Waiting. But he looked away again without a word, going back to work.

“What time is it?” Madara asked. 

“Almost six. My assistant should be getting in soon."

Madara nodded, and got the hint. He stood and shucked off what was left of his blacks and began to redress in Tobirama's borrowed clothes. They fit him more snuggly than they did the Senju, but he supposed that was expected; Tobirama was lither than himself, more narrow across in the shoulders.

Still, they would work.

“Should be?” he asked as he pulled the shirt over his head.

Tobirama hummed. “Taka isn't at her best in the morning.” _Or any time_.

The Senju didn't say it, but Madara could hear it in the way he picked up the paper he was working on and set it aside.

Madara shrugged as he tried off the drawstring of his borrowed pants.

“So, get rid of her,” he said.

Scowling, Tobirama still didn't look up as he said. “The Hokage appointed her, not myself.”

… Huh.

There was a lot to process in that statement. First and foremost that Tobirama referred to his brother not by name, but by his title. 

Then there was the fact that apparently, among the Senju, Tobirama didn't control his own staff. Still, it wasn't the strangest of their customs.

“Ask Hashirama to give you someone else.” Madara suggested, not really seeing the problem, and curious enough to try to understand at least one facet of what puzzled him about the younger Senju brother.

Tobirama sighed. “A pointless endeavor,” he said, which explained exactly nothing, to Madara’s irritation (or maybe it was something different? Irritation was not normally something that made him feel fond. Not since-). “Besides, I have more important problems to attend.”

“Yes, but surely with a better assistant, said problems would be easier to attend to. That’s what an assistant is _for_,” Madara said more snidely than he meant to. It was early, but he felt suddenly like he was preaching at the other man.

Who looked up and leveled him a flat glare. 

“If it were so simple, I would _gladly_ just march into the Hokage’s office and demand he send me someone competent, but such people are currently in short supply, if you hadn’t noticed.” Madara went to interrupt, offended, but Tobirama continued regardless. “As things stand, Hashirama and I hardly need yet another thing to set us at odds.”

Oh. Right. Madara supposed that was true, and not something that Madara had considered. At all. Not in the last several days.

“Such as sleeping with me,” Madara stated.

Nodding, the other man didn’t look as irate as Madara was honestly expecting. He was expecting more bite, more of the fight from the night before, some of the _fire_. Instead, Tobirama just seemed tired. And maybe moderately annoyed.

His words were just as sharp, even if the tone wasn’t.

“Yes, so if you’d kindly get out, I have work to do.”

Seemed like a reasonable request, all things considered. Madara was starting to feel awkward again, invasive, which he supposed was fair.

But if there was one thing he excelled at, it was being contrary. And this whole thing was confusing and he was still tired and could still feel Tobirama’s sweat on him and he didn’t want to _go_. Well, he probably wouldn’t mind _going_, would certainly go before anyone could catch them, but he just- didn’t want to be kicked out so soon.

There was _nothing_ waiting at home and he just-

Didn’t want to leave yet. 

“What are you working on?” he asked instead.

Again, the measuring carmine gaze met his own, and it was that same enigmatic face that he couldn’t read, that flashed in his mind, gazing down on his brother’s dying body, equally indifferent, but he blinked, hard and it was gone, replaced by the same man, but different. 

That one, he thought he’d known, thought he’d understood. This Tobirama though, Madara had no idea what thoughts were in his head. Only knew that he wanted to _know_. Desperately.

A desire that drove him here again, drove him to Tobirama again for the simple fact that it was quiet here. Focused, requiring all of his attention. Tobirama was too much of a riddle to do otherwise. Madara wasn’t lying when he said he hated him. In some ways, he did, hated that it was _this_ man of all men to grab his attention (obsession) and not let go, that he couldn’t drag himself away, make himself just leave it alone, but-

He had nothing else anymore. 

“I’m working on a standardized ranking system to streamline mission assignments,” Tobirama said, answering his question with a grimace. “It’s proving needlessly tedious.”

He didn’t insist that Madara leave again, so Madara let himself stay. Just for a little while longer.

“How so?” he asked.

Tobirama sighed. “Every clan has differing ways of quantifying the skill level of their own shinobi. Often determined by the shinobi’s mastery of the clan’s specialty jutsus. Most clans have no official ranking systems within themselves, as the skills of each shinobi are known by their commanders or the clan leader themselves if the clan is small enough.”

Madara nodded. Izuna had been mostly in charge of distributing the missions among their kinsmen, familiar enough with their fighting shinobi to know what they were capable of, a role that Hikaku had mostly taken up. 

Thinking of Hikaku left Madara feeling even more guilty. He had felt that emotion more in the last ten minutes than he could ever recall in his entire life and quickly decided he hated it. 

He crossed his arms.

Tobirama continued. “The most logical solution, then, is to have those same people amass the information about the shinobi within their own clan and share it with the Hokage, but so far most have proved resilient. I’m not sure if it is the extra work involved, or the very nature of my own contentious involvement, but the most probable reasoning is that the clan heads do not want to lose even nominal control over their own shinobi.”

Madara didn’t ask why Tobirama’s involvement would make a project ‘contentious’. Even as admittedly buried he’d been in his own grief, even _he_ knew that the village was divided on the subject of the Hokage’s last living brother. Almost as divided as Madara himself was.

“As it is,” Tobirama said, and he was surprisingly loquacious, easy with information, with _Madara_. (Considering they had just slept together for the _second_ time, it was more surprising than maybe it should have been, but Madara didn’t kid himself into thinking _that_ had meant anything at all.) “The Hokage has been assigning missions between the clans as fairly and evenly as he can, but if this vision is to succeed, the shinobi need to learn to fight for Konohagakure, not just their own clans.”

The Senju paused, put down his pen and braced himself with both hands above his desk, staring down unseeing at the documents before him. Madara had the distinct feeling that Tobirama was talking around him, rather than to him.

.Almost as if he’d forgotten Madara was there. 

“This Village is to be our home, the place in which the next generation will grow up, and we must leave them a legacy _worthy_ of them; a world where clans and bloodlines, where who you are and who you are born to doesn’t dictate who you become; but that world can only become a reality if every soul within these walls is willing to dedicate themselves fully to it, not to relics of the past,” Tobirama looked down and made a note as he muttered. “Perhaps a symbol of some sort, to take the place of the clan _kamon_...?”

They weren’t words Madara expected of Tobirama. _Hashirama_, maybe, but not the younger Senju. Maybe it was that feeling of being off balance, which had plagued him from the moment he’d fully awakened under a blanket, comfort given without any reason or request, that made Madara ask, “How can I help?”

Tobirama looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. Madara made up his mind. 

Hikaku was right. It was time to stop hiding. Maybe a task, as irritating as Madara could guess this one would be, was just what he needed to make him _care_ about this, about anything, again. 

He tilted his chin at Tobirama, insistent without needing words.

Tobirama obliged him. “I’ll send you my thoughts and what little progress I’ve made by midmorning. I had planned to meet with three of the clan heads this afternoon about this subject. I can trust you to attend? That is, if you think you can be diplomatic for that long.”

He sounded, not dubious, but somewhat… playful? Teasing, maybe. 

That, at least, Madara knew how to handle.

“As if there could be a doubt,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel. 

It made Tobirama snort though, wryly amused, and even if it was at Madara’s own expense, he didn’t mind. Instead, he felt oddly proud that he could make Tobirama laugh.

“You really should go,” the albino said as he straightened, face falling back into its characteristic indifference, “The morning shift is arriving.”

Right. Sensor.

The smirk didn’t leave Madara’s face as he walked passed the man back towards the window he’d entered in untold hours ago. The dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky. 

Movement behind him drew his eyes back just once. Just in time to see Tobirama reach up to move aside the high neckline of his shirt rub unconsciously at a bruise on his neck, one Madara distinctly remembered giving him.

It was red and purple and ugly against Tobirama’s pale skin. It looked painful.

Guilt, hot and tight, more potent than before curdled in his throat.

“Sorry.”

The word came out without his permission. 

Tobirama didn’t even turn fully around, just looked back over his shoulder and raised that same, infuriating eyebrow. 

“For-” Madara began, but couldn’t phrase it, so he just gestured vaguely to his own throat.

Realizing what he was doing, Tobirama snorted derisive as he turned his attention back to his work, dropping his hand. . 

“Don’t be,” the Senju said flatly, “I bruise easily.”

_No you don’t._

But he didn’t say it. He left without another word. 

Hours later, after he’d showered, napped, eaten, and begun combing through the monstrous packet Tobirama had sent over (thank the gods for the _sharingan_. Madara had never been so grateful for an eidetic memory), he and Tobirama had gone to a fractious meeting with the heads of the Inuzuka, Shimura, and Onikuma clans, and only then did Madara understand, in the depths of his soul, what exactly Tobirama had meant when he’d called the whole exercise ‘needlessly tedious.’

Even with Madara’s added presence and authority, they seemed to find endless things to _argue_ with Tobirama about, taking blatant advantage of the way the other man was pressed for time to try and drag the meeting out long enough for nothing to be accomplished. 

The Inuzuka in particular seemed to hold something against Tobirama, something he didn’t bother to acknowledge, which only served to make her more irritated. 

Madara didn’t even have time to question Tobirama about it, as someone from the engineering corp was waiting for the Senju as they left the meeting, something about a cofferdam weakening that had Tobirama leaving in a hurry. 

The Uchiha had tried to go with him, but Tobirama held him up with a hand. 

“I’ll deal with it,” he said. “In the meantime, focus on the project you already have.”

“Have?” Madara asked.

Nodding, Tobirama said, “That went well enough.”

Which, if that was a good meeting, Madara didn’t want to think about the others. He wondered if the Inuzuka head woman was enough of a hothead to have become violent before with how much she was growling... She certainly seemed aggressive enough. 

Tobirama saw his skepticism, and amended, “Better than my previous meetings with them have gone. I will trust it to you, then, until I return.”

Return from where? Madara opened his mouth to ask, but Tobirama had vanished, _shishun_, not _hiraishin_, but just as untraceable without Madara’s _sharingan._

He got his answer that evening, when Hashirama asked him to join the Hokage for dinner.at the Senju’s main house. Madara was more than willing to oblige his friend. Anything to get out of his own, equally empty and oppressive home. 

“Tobirama tells me you’re taking over his project,” said Hashirama as the food was served. At Madara’s confused look (_which one?_), he clarified. “The standardization of the ranking system.”

Madara hadn’t agreed, necessarily, but he supposed it was all the same regardless. He _had_ spent all day on it, adding his own thoughts to Tobirama’s, and that infernal meeting was justification enough for him to take on the whole mess, if only to spite those bastards. 

And the other, younger man clearly had enough on his plate. So, Madara nodded. 

“I offered,” Madara clarified, just in case.

Hashirama looked so relieved that he was glad he had. 

“Good,” he said. “A project will do you good.”

Feeling pandered to and slightly insulted, Madara scowled and protested, “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Hahsirama asked.

“Yes,” snapped Madara back.

Hashirama raised his hands defensively. 

“I mean no offence,” the Hokage said, “It’s just- Hikaku came to me-”

Oh, there it was: the rage from before, swelling, corrosive. He’d been wondering where it had wandered off to.

“To tell you what, exactly?”

To Hashirama’s credit, he didn’t flinch, just continued to pacify, as was his way. 

“Nothing. He just requested that I authorize a shinobi swap for the upcoming Hyuuga mission.”

Well, Hikaku would know, wouldn’t he. Madara ground his teeth, and thought about contesting on principle, but decided against it at the last moment. To just let it go. Because otherwise he would have to admit to Hashirama that he actually _didn’t_ know anything about the Hyuuga mission, or which of _his_ shinobi was assigned to it. It wouldn’t really help his case for being ‘fine’.

“Though, he did mention…” said Hashirama, his tone still damningly tentative. 

A sharp exhale, and Madara didn’t let himself- he wouldn’t lose it again, not here, at yet another of his oldest friends. 

“Mention. What?” he demanded. 

Hashirama straightened, and _waited_. Let Madara seeth for a moment, get himself under control. He took a bit of the venison, chewed it, and swallowed, all while Madara just breathed.

And calmed down enough to be rational.

“That you’ve been struggling lately,” _still_, “and that you haven’t addressed the issue of my brother.”

Oh. Right. He… hadn’t done that. At all. 

In fairness, he had been doing his best to not think about Tobirama, and avoid thinking about whatever the fuck had happened last night. 

It shouldn’t have happened. He should not have been so weak, or given in, but the man was there and infuriating, and it was so easy to be angry and _feel something_ for the first time since the last time…

He knew better, should have been better about resisting temptation. But all it had taken was the nudge to fall off the cliff and give in. He had _known_ it would be easier to do than last time, and so he had done his best to avoid it, Tobirama and all the problems their liaison brought, all together. 

But he couldn’t very well tell Hashirama that he’d fucked his younger brother in a fit of passionate rage that he still couldn’t bear thinking about out right. Much less thinking about Tobirama in any other light. 

So he, well, he didn’t lie, but misdirected, certainly.

“I’m trying to decide how best to handle it.”

Hashirama hummed and didn’t call him on his, very obvious, bullshit, but rather took it at Madara’s word that he _would_ handle it. And soon. 

They both went back to eating for just a moment, before Madara brought up the thing that had been bothering him nearly all day, since Tobirama’s assistant was late to work, then missing in action for the rest of the day.

“Tobirama needs a new assistant,” Madara stated, like the fact it was.

“What? Why? What did he do?” Hashirama asked, and it struck him as strange, wrong, that Hashirama would assume the fault laid with his brother, and not the other party. Even if, just a few weeks ago, Madara might have made the same assertion. 

But weeks ago Hashirama could have been relied upon to take the opposite position. To defend his brother, even when Madara asked him, begged him even, to stop, to see reason, to recognize that they had to be more proactive in dealing with the problem that was Senju Tobirama.

Madara didn’t know when their positions had reversed, if they even had. To be fair, he didn’t know if they truly were.

“Nothing, as far as I know. She’s just useless.”

“No, she isn’t?” Hashirama replied, an odd mix of certain and confused that Madara didn’t know how he conveyed so clearly, but Madara understood what he meant.

“Yes, she is. I spent half the day with your brother today, and I can assure you, she did nothing for him.”

“Maybe Tobirama had her working on something else,” Hashirama said, and took a sip of tea.

“Ha!” Madara barked. “Not likely. Believe me, Tobirama isn’t entrusting anything to her that he doesn’t have to.”

“Well, maybe that’s why she’s useless?”

Hashirama was annoyed, Madara noticed with some surprise. Annoyed at him, and at Tobirama. Over a secretary?

“Or he doesn’t trust her _because_ she’s useless.”

Contesting this logic, Hashirama argued, “Taka has been second to Mitari on my own staff for years. I assure you. She is very competent.”

Madara didn’t know what to say to that. It was so contrary to every time he had ever encountered the woman, but, perhaps Hashirama knew better?

Hashirama still looked stone faced and unfamiliar, so Madara tried again, prodding, not knowing how _not_ to. “Regardless,” he said, “if they aren’t a functioning team, then surely Tobirama would be able to be more efficient with someone more suited. Someone who likes him, maybe?” His tone was sharp, the sarcasm heavy. 

Hashirama just sighed, and put down his tea cup.

“If liking Tobirama was a requirement for being his assistant then I would be hard pressed to find _any_ candidates.” 

Madara sat back, surprised at the vehemence in Hashirama’s voice. Firstly, it felt unfair. Surely, it couldn’t be as difficult as all that to find someone who tolerated Tobirama. And even if it was, telling Madara, who, as far as Hashirama knew, was still among the number who hated the younger man seemed weirdly out of line. 

(And it wasn’t like he could just tell his friend how, why that had changed. Not if he wanted to leave the room on his own two feet.)

But Hashirama continued, “As it is, he will have to make due with who he has.”

Madara didn’t know why such a simple thing as a staff change was worth debating in the first place. Didn’t understand why Hashirama wouldn’t just do something about it. He could at least pretend to listen to him, the village co-founder, when he had a legitimate concern instead of brushing it aside as a non-issue this way. 

That, at the root of it, this was another debate about how best to handle Hashirama’s brother (not, in itself rare, Madara had to admit), made the situation even more frustrating. 

He recognized suddenly that somehow, they had flipped sides. Now, it was Madara asking Hashirama to bend, to relent, to think the best of Tobirama rather than the worst. And it was Hashirama who had been convinced not to while Madara wasn’t looking.

Madara could admit that perhaps it was just none of his business, how Hashirama handled his brother, especially as Madara wasn’t even sure of what he thought yet. 

He supposed it was _possible_ that this was what Tobirama had intended. That he had somehow inspired Madara’s obsession and then used it to his advantage, but it seemed unlikely. For one thing, it was clear that Tobirama was not interested in anything beyond the physical, had made it clear in both of their encounters, but also in the absolute professionalism with which he had treated Madara all day.

For another, the Senju had never actively sought him out. Not once. It had been Madara, every time, that initiated contact, collision. 

If Tobirama was trying to forge him into an ally to use against Hashirama, the way that Madara had feared he would do to everyone, he was certainly not putting much effort into it.

(A warm blanket, warding off the chill of the night even after his lover had left.)

So, unlikely.

Regardless, the issue of Tobirama’s secretary _really_ wasn’t worth fighting with Hashirama about. Not when his friend would wonder, rightly, at his interest.

Not over something so trivial.

Not when his anger was so close to the skin, so dangerous. 

Regardless, he’d been blinded for too long. Maybe Hikaku was right. About everything. 

_“As things stand, Hashirama and I hardly need yet another thing to set us at odds,”_ the Senju had said. 

Maybe Madara had already done too much.

“And besides, I’m sure whatever they’ve quarrelled about will blow over, what with Tobirama out of the village for a while.”

… _What?_

“What?”

“Oh! I forgot to tell you. The Hyuuga have asked that he come as the next ambassador to finalize our new alliance. The clan elders all think it prudent. You don’t mind, do you?” 

It was Hashirama’s turn to act conciliatory, clearly trying to smooth over Madara’s ruffled feathers at him not immediately acquiescing about Taka but no. _No_. He didn’t- 

Yes, he minded, but, again, it wasn’t like he could tell Hashirama _why_.

“I mean,” Hashirama began, “You don’t think it… unwise?”

Madara didn’t know what answer Hashirama was looking for. Did he want Madara to tell him no? Not to send Tobirama. But why? 

Hashirama had faith, and Madara doubted. That was how it had always been. How could that have all changed?

Nonetheless, Madra had done enough damage here tonight. He had bridges of his own to mend. 

So, he picked up his own tea and took a sip before saying. “Not at all. I’m sure he will succeed. And it’s not as if we should deny them such a simple request.”

Hashirama smiled, but it seemed hollow somehow, fractured before he went back to his meal.

Madara couldn’t help but wonder. 

-

Were Kagami a different child, he might have been cowed. Might have taken the information he’d overheard last week, and two days ago, and this morning and let it go. Just ignored it, or more likely, forgotten about it. He might have shouted at the person that they were _wrong_, that Tobi didn’t hate Uchiha’s. That he wasn’t mean. Tobi was nice! Nicer than any of his stinking family.

But his family never listened to him, about anything. Ever.

That, and Tobi didn’t want anyone to know they were friends.

He hadn’t told Kagami that, exactly, but he wasn’t _stupid_, okay? He could tell. He was smart, no matter what his mom said. 

Tobi never let anyone see them together, glared at his stupid assistant lady whenever she said something mean about it, or talked to Kagami at all, and he didn’t think about it.

Didn’t think about how maybe Tobi didn’t want anyone to know because maybe he was embarrassed to be around Kagami. Like his dad was. And his mom. And his sister. And everyone he’d ever met not Tobi, really.

But Tobi didn’t _hate_ them, no matter what stupid grown-ups said. He was nice, and gave Kagami piggyback rides through the woods and let Kagami ask him a million questions and bought him snacks; he’d even brought him back a _present_ one time! Okay, it was just a book, but Kagami liked it! And he liked Tobirama. Tobirama didn’t hate him.

… did he?

And anyways! It didn’t matter. Kagami told himself it didn’t, so it didn’t. Everyone else could just shut up. Tobi would have- would have told him to just get lost, or to leave him alone, or ask someone else the way everyone else did if he didn’t want Kagami around. He was used to it. He would’ve even listened! 

But Tobi was nice. So, maybe he wouldn’t say that stuff, even if he secretly wanted to.

So, Kagami had tried, maybe, to give Tobi some ‘space’. That’s what his sister always said she wanted, and she and Tobirama were kinda alike. Both were really smart and strong, so Kagami thought maybe it would help.

But now Tobi was _leaving_.

Kagami knew eavesdropping was bad unless it was when his cousin Hikaku was paying him to do it, then it was alright, but he was bored and not bothering Tobi was easier when he was at least in sight, so Kagami may have been following him. He didn’t _think_ Tobi knew he was stalking him, because he didn’t turn around, but maybe he just didn’t want to talk to Kagami, but he didn’t make him stop either way, so Kagami didn’t mind. He meant to keep quiet and out of the way like his mom liked. He figured ten feet or so was enough space. Tobi wouldn’t mind if he stayed outside on the _engawa_ while he talked to some old lady he called “Aunt Niita” who looked sick and tired when she opened the door a while ago after Tobi knocked, but then she smiled at him which was weird because no one but Kagami was ever happy to see Tobi and then they were just doing boring stuff while Kagami waited outside, not eavesdropping! He was just nearby and the walls were old-fashioned paper and maybe he could hear a bit. Enough to hear that Tobi was _leaving_.

And Kagami had tried to be a good boy! He’d tried- tried to be _good_ and not be annoying or too _much_ but it wasn’t enough!

Tobi hated the Uchiha and now he was leaving and it was _all Kagami’s fault_!

“Please don’t go!” he wailed as he barged into the strange lady’s home.

She jumped and dropped her teacup and it broke, but he didn’t care. Just leapt at Tobi and cried as he clung, saying, “I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t go! I’m sorry you hate us. I’ll leave you alone, and I won’t bother you, just don’t- don’t go.”

He hiccuped and cried. Uchiha weren’t supposed to cry but the Uchiha were mean and Kagami didn’t want to be one anymore if it meant that he and Tobi couldn’t be friends anymore! It wasn’t his fault he was born a stupid Uchiha. He didn’t even want to be one anymore, even, just please, please don’t leave me all alone again!

Gentle arms closed around him, and Tobi’s hand landed in his hair.

“Shh, Kagami, hush,” Tobi said and he didn’t sound gentle, he never did, instead he sounded stern, like his dad, but not when he was angry just when he was trying to say something important. “What’s gotten into you?”

And Kagami didn’t want to look at him and see how disappointed Tobi was in him and it didn’t matter anymore, anyways. It was too late. Tobi was leaving and it was all his fault!

The lady was talking, asking Tobi who Kagami was and other stupid useless stuff that didn’t matter.

Kagaim only had one friend and he didn’t care if Tobi was older or hated him, he didn’t want him to go. It wasn’t fair!

“Kagami,” Tobi said. “Enough. Calm down.”

And Kagami tried. He did! He wasn’t a baby, and only babies cried, so, he tried to stop but it was hard.

Tobi’s hand left his hair and his back to close over his shoulders, and he pried Kagami off him, and Kagami was worried he would yell, but he didn’t-he didn’t look angry or disappointed, his face was just quiet the way it got sometimes and Kagami didn’t know what that meant as he hiccuped and tried to stop crying. 

Uchiha never cried. His dad said so, but Kagami had never been a very good Uchiha and he- he _hated them_ and he hated this and-

Tobi’s aunt handed Kagami’s _friend_ a handkerchief, and Tobirama knelt to be at eye level with him.

He didn’t say anything as he wiped Kagami’s eyes and nose. Just waited for him to calm down. 

“I’m sorry!” the boy said, hoping he could say it enough that it would matter and change his friend’s mind. “I don’t know what I did, or why you hate me, but please don’t go!”

Tobi tilted his head at him, the way he did sometimes when answering Kagami’s questions, and asked, “Why would me leaving on a mission have anything to do with you?”

“B-because! Uncle Hiroshi says you hate the Uchiha and Cousin Yakitomi says that you can’t stand the Uchiha and I didn’t know-! I wouldn’t have- _I’m sorry_!”

It was no good. He was crying again.

“Please don’t hate me! Don’t leave!” 

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes and _tried_. Tried not to cry. To be strong. But it was hard. 

Armored arms closed around him, familiar, and Kagami buried his face in the white scruff around Tobi’s neck as the other man hugged him tightly. And Kagami hid there and cried. 

“I don’t hate you, Kagami,” Tobi said, voice sounding softer than it’s usual tone, but Kagami was too scared to hear it. “I don’t hate anyone.”

That didn’t make any sense, didn’t match what everyone else was saying, but Tobi had never lied to him before. So, okay, but then-

“B-but then why are you leaving?”

Tobi ran a soothing hand up and down Kagami’s back that helped a bit - it felt like he could breathe again - before he pulled away again, made Kagami look at him.

“I am leaving, but only because my brother, the Hokage, has commanded that I do so. I owe that duty to both him and the Village.”

“But you could die!”

And Kagami remembered hearing his icky cousin Saito bragging- bragging that he had hurt Tobi and Kagami might have hidden a bunch of slimy frogs from the river in his bed but that wasn’t the point! The point was Tobi could have died and nobody would have even _told_ him!

But- but Tobi just smiled at him, and ran a hand over his curls.

“It is only death, my friend. There are more important things. Duty. Honor. Loyalty to that which you _love_. Nothing is more important.”

Kagami sniffed, and rubbed at his still leaking eyes.

“I know,” he said, because he did. His papa talked about things like that a lot, but. “But it’s hard!” he sniffed quietly.

Tobi hugged him again.

“That is why we must be brave. Courage isn’t for when things are easy.”

And Kagami knew what to say, had heard Tobi say it over and over again, so he finished, parroting, “It’s for when things are hard.”

“Yes. Just so.” 

This time, when Kagami tried to stop the tears, it came easier. Tobi didn’t hate anyone, had called him his friend and- 

It still sucked. 

Tobi pulled back again, strong hands on the young boy’s shoulders giving him a strength he didn’t feel.

“My mission will take weeks, but I should be back before the Summee Festival if all goes well.”

That was _ages_ away (especially to one so young with so little time to compare it to) but Kagami nodded. 

“You’ll be careful?” he asked.

Tobi nodded, and he never lied, and Kagami felt the balloon of relief burst in his chest and all he felt was tired. 

“In the meantime,” Tobi said, “I would ask a favor of you, as a friend.”

“Wh-what is it?” Kagami asked, and Tobi stood again, and faced the strange lady from before, his aunt. 

“This is my Aunt Niita. Aunt Niita, this is Uchiha Kagami.”

She was looking at Tobi, not Kagami, like he was saying something funny (Kagami got that reaction a lot and tried not to feel sad that not even Tobi’s family liked him), but eventually, she looked down at him and smiled. She had a nice smile. It looked like Tobi-kun’s.

“Hello Kagami. Tobira’s told me all about you. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Oh. Tobi _had_ told someone. Maybe he wasn’t embarrassed then? But now Kagami was because he’d blubbered like a baby in front of her and they’d never met before. He might have shuffled a bit to hide behind Tobi’s legs, but he waved a bit, and tried to smile.

“Hello,” he said.

“I promised my cousin I’d look in on her as often as I could, but now I must go,” and Tobi-kun looked down at him, “Will you do it for me while I’m away?”

“Tobira…” Aunt Niita said, but Tobi just smiled at her with his eyes in that weird way of his and she smiled back.

“Are- are you sure?” Kagami asked, looking between them.

“Yes,” Tobi said, and then said, “It would make doing my duty easier, knowing you were looking after her for me.”

And the lady smiled again at Kagami. 

“I wouldn’t mind the company,” she said.

“... Okay. I promise.”

“And in return,” Aunt Niita said, “Tobirama will promise to be careful for us. And he always keeps his promises.”

She winked at him, and Kagami wasn’t sure what to do with that so he looked up at Tobi, who nodded solemnly to him. 

“I promise.”

“... Okay,” Kagami said, feeling like it was a goodbye, so he hugged Tobi-kun’s legs again as hard as he could. “I promise, too.”

-

Tobirama looked down at the body in his room, still silent, motionless after all this time. Even after all these months, there was nothing but a steady heartbeat and the quiet hush of air from Izuna’s lungs to indicate that he still lived.

Tobirama spoke to him regardless. “I’ve stabilized the _kage bushin_ as much as I can. It should last until I return.”

Nothing. Not even the vaguest hint of irritation that had occasionally stirred his hope. 

“The irregularities in their personalities have been corrected. They should do their job, but if something should happen, I’ve managed a form of rough communication.”

Still. Nothing. 

“This mission is supposed to be easy. All signs indicate a quick and simple return, but we both know how my missions have been lately. If,” he paused, because he thought he felt _something_, but it quietened, so he continued, “If the worst should happen, I have done all I can to ensure that you be found.”

Tobirama looked out the window to where the sun was rising, and realized how little time he had to dawdle with this, so he cleared his throat.

“If this is goodbye, I wish you better fortune than this. And I am sorry. For-.”

Swallowing, he shifted uncomfortably.

_For all of this._

He didn’t say it, couldn’t. Instead, he lifted his pack, and left the room to its silence.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks.
> 
> First thing's first, the response to the last chapter was amazing. To everyone who commented and kudoes, please know that I love every one of you. This chapter might not have come out at all if not for all of your support. Next, this chapter was a huge pain. Huge shout out to LostInThePines, who held my hand through endless rewrites, keeping me on it and not letting me just give up. 
> 
> And now some housekeeping. I've added a guess on how many chapters I think this will turn out to be. I've lowballed it a little because I would rather over-deliver than under, but be aware that it is just a guesstimate. I just wanted to give you guys some situational awareness of where we are at and how much left we have to go. Also, please be aware that I might need to add tags (and please let me know if there are any you feel need added), but I am going to say that the rating will not be changing. We're going to stay firmly in the land of Mature but not Explicit. 
> 
> That should be everything. I'm too tired to think of all the hundreds of other things I wanted to say other than thank you thank you thank you all for reading. As always, find me on Discord or Tumblr if you want to chat. My handle's the same on both.
> 
> All my love,  
Moth


	10. Chapter 10

Izuna had a plan. 

He was going to stay awake, monitor this fucking _idiotic_ Senju and make sure he felt every ounce of Izuna’s displeasure. 

Tobirama didn’t get to _leave_. He still had things to do. Getting Izuna out of this fucking bed, for one thing. He should just fucking buck up and tell his brother no. For _once_.

But Tobirama refused to even contemplate it, just continued in his preparations like an _asshole_. So fine. But Izuna was going to make the lead up to his departure as uncomfortable as possible

It had been a good plan. 

And then Tobirama had gone to say goodbye to his aunt Niita, and the fucking cat had curled up next to Izuna’s ear and begun purring, loudly. So loudly, he completely missed Tobirama leaving. 

(He hadn’t fallen asleep. He would deny it to his grave, however close that may be.)

And by the time the infernal feline had moved off to nestle on the center of his chest, Tobirama had gone, vanished, and left behind a stuipd, droning clone who could find nothing more interesting to talk to Izuna about than the shapes of the clouds passing by the window. 

He was going to murder the bastard when he got back. 

Just as soon as he killed the stupid cat. 

And the clone. 

… He should make a list. 

-

Every time the sun rose over Konohagakure, it rose over something new. Though the trees had always grown tall in this valley, with the same sheer stone cliffs overlooking their arching boughs, and the same river, and interchangeable human figures winding between their roots; the landscape itself seemingly entirely unaltered by the subtle wearing of time. 

But there was something in the air. Something that had revitalized this once sleepy, unchanging forest and shook it to life. 

Something _new_. Something you could feel, sense in the quiet of the sunrise, in the clouds that gathered and passed without a rumble. 

Hope.

A promise of peace.

For almost two hundred years, these lands had seen nothing of humanity but blood, the never-ending rise and fall to violence. 

But here, in this valley, among these pines reaching for the sky, with ever changing hues framing consistent stars, they were building something new.

That was perhaps the part that brought Uchiha Tsubame the most pride. That _they_ were building it. _Their_ generation was building change with their own hands. 

It was work, it was a struggle. Many days had been spent in the mud, under the hot sun, building, when they were all much more adept at destroying, but they were _trying_. 

And after months of work, she could finally see the fruits of that labor. That here, among these former enemies, a new world was being built.

It made it a little easier to rise before the sun. Mornings and she had never gotten along. She had made her peace with this years ago and prepared accordingly. Knowing she would have an early morning to match, she had gone to bed around eight, and was actually up before her alarm. She’d been surprised how little she minded. 

She was looking forward to today. She had a mission that would take her out of their new village, and was happy for the extra time to prepare for it. 

She was replacing Kenichi, who was due back this afternoon from playing ambassador to the Hyuuga, and she was more than happy to have an excuse to not be there for it. In fact, if she timed it correctly, she would be long gone before he even crossed the borders and they would _tragically_ miss each other.

She was relatively certain that he had finally gotten the hint that she wasn’t fucking interested. It had only taken her breaking four bones in his hand, and who knows how many in his ego, when she’d finally had enough of his wandering hands. And maybe she shouldn’t have done it in front of his whole squad, but maybe somebody should have taught him years ago that ‘no’ meant ‘_no_’. She was a shinobi for the gods’ sake, not some red light worker paid to tolerate his licentious behavior. 

New world aside, some guys were just pigs.

Hikaku had backed her, which she appreciated. He had even sent Kenichi out of the village for several weeks, to make nice and eat humble pie with the Hyuuga, but with his imminent return, she was more than happy to have somewhere else to be.

She was not afraid of his retaliation, such that it was sure to be full of bluster and wind, with Hikaku on her side he could blow however hot and long he wanted to and make not a smidge of difference. But she also knew better than to borrow trouble where none need be bought. The farther she was from Kenichi, for now at least, the better.

For him and any other bones he’d like to keep unbroken while her temper still simmered. 

So, she’d utilized her early morning to its fullest, took the time to make herself breakfast and tea and even meditate for a bit under her new favorite _sakura_ tree knowing it was going to be a good day.

Even if the rumor that Senju Tobirama was going to be on the mission with her, as the lead, was cause for anticipation.

If she was honest, she was kind of looking forward to working with the formidable man. Sure, he had high standards, but she was one of, count them, _four_ kunoichi among the Uchiha and she had won that position with relentless, agonizing work. He couldn’t possibly hold higher standards for her than she held for herself.

And, she knew his secret. It was all an act. Nobody who indulged her cousin Kagami could be all that bad. If anything, at least she knew he had the patience of a saint. His short temper and cold rage a front when really, he was a softy at heart. 

Still, she took care when dressing in her kunoichi gear. She didn’t get to wear the traditional Uchiha blacks. They were reserved for men, built to fit them, but she didn’t let that stop her from showing her pride for her Clan. Black bandages up the thighs and around her chest, covered by a navy skirt and top with the Uchiha clan symbol emblazoned proudly on the back. She pulled her hair up, letting her bangs cover one eye, and pulled up her mask. A pouch strapped to her thigh and two _tanto_ strapped to her back and she was ready to go.

The sun still wasn’t up yet, but she let the darkness embrace her as she locked her door and made her way out of the Uchiha district.

She had almost made it through the whole district without seeing a soul, when Hikaku stopped her at the gate.

He too was dressed for a mission, staff strapped to his back. Strange.

“You’re sick today,” he said in greeting as he blocked her path. “Sign your mission over to me.”

She raised her visible eyebrow at him, but he didn’t explain, just handed her a scroll.

… Huh.

“Why?” she drawled.

It didn’t matter, not really. If Hikaku needed anything, anything at all, she would do what she could to help him. Most anyone in the clan would. They could all see that he had been running himself ragged trying to cover for Madara. She could see the bags under his eyes that spoke of another sleepless night, _and she owed him_, but still.

She had been looking forward to this mission.

And… despite no one talking about it, there was a good portion of their clan who wanted to see Senju Tobirama dead. 

Hikaku was a good guy, one of the few in their clan by Tsubame’s approximation, but he had been one of Izuna’s closest friends, still _was_ one of Madara’s only friends. 

He had been on the mission where Saito had, supposedly, injured Tobirama. (She’d heard one rumor that he’d stabbed the Senju in the back unprovoked.) What was certain, was that Hikaku had done nothing. Saito still bragged about it loudly, but thankfully not in Kagami’s hearing. 

She didn’t like thinking poorly of her cousin, but neither was she fool enough to ignore evidence before her nose. 

And, dammit, she liked Tobirama. (Or, rather, she thought she might like him, if she got a chance to get to know him before her family killed him.) She’d been looking forward to getting to know him better..

But Hikaku refused to waiver. “I want to check something,” he answered, and extended the scroll again.

He had that look, the one everyone knew meant that he was determined to win whatever argument you were thinking about starting with him, and honestly, it was not her place to challenge him in this, while he was acting Clan Head. 

If he had business with Tobirama or the Hyuuga, she had no business prying into it. 

And at least this way, she got to go back to bed.

She sighed, knowing she was beaten, and gave in gracefully. “Fine,” she said, taking the scroll. 

Annoyingly prepared, he handed her a pen.

She met his gaze as she took the pen from his fingers and held it while she let the pen hover above the place for her signature. He may have rank over her, but she was still a shinobi. Nothing was free. “You owe me, cousin,” she informed him. 

He rolled his eyes at her, but didn’t disagree. 

She smiled at him through her mask, signed her name with a flourish, and disappeared in a flurry of leaves, taking his pen with her.

Her bed was calling.

-

Tobirama was gaining a well deserved reputation for bad luck on his missions. Though none of his mission partners had died (Yet. After Saito he wasn’t sure that would continue), there was always something that went wrong. The Uchihas he was assigned with had been, for the most part, anything but helpful. He had only met Uchiha Tsubame in passing, and besiding her disinclination to reveal his connection to the young Kagami, had no real evidence to support the assumption that she would be any different. 

As he waited by the North Gate for her, the sky turning golden above him, he turned over the last few days, weeks, months, perhaps even years in his overactive mind. Even as sluggish as it felt these days, he had no lack of things to think on.

Hashirama had been genuine in his belief that this mission should be easy. Whatever his elder brother’s failings, he wasn’t a liar, more likely to be too truthful. Tobirama took his lack of action for what it was, but he also knew that Hashirama expected an easy success.

However, he had also, in his tone, and in the steel in his eyes, showed his resolve that Tobirama _must_ succeed here, regardless of whatever happened.

It was a feeling that Tobirama shared. The Hyuuga were crucial, the final piece before Konohagakure could claim absolute superiority across the Land of Fire, the only thing that would lead directly to peace.

Even if Tobirama didn’t get to see it, it was something he thought he would happily die for. 

That didn’t mean he was going to run to death. He owed his brother his life and his death, had sworn that oath years ago and made his peace with it. All Hashirama had to do was ask.

Which he hadn’t. Yet. So Tobirama busied himself with plans for any outcome, including one where he perished far from home. In which case, the helpless Uchiha would be his only hope. 

He had at least managed to create a crude set of communication scrolls. The matched set would show what was written on its pair, and flare chakra to announce the incoming message. Hopefully, in the face of imminent death, he would be able to get a message to his clone to pass along to the Hokage. 

That only assumed that he would see his death coming with enough warning to take action. Not a guarantee, but the best he could manage until he figured out how to extend the range of the shortwave radio in his happuri.

He blinked in surprise when Uchiha Hikaku arrived, dressed for a mission with his wicked staff slung over his shoulders across his back.

“Heading out, Uchiha-san?” he inquired when the other man approached him. 

Hikaku nodded, “Aa, I’m your partner for this mission, Senju-sama.”

Odd. He could have sworn another Uchiha had been originally assigned.

“This mission was assigned to Uchiha Tsubame and myself.”

Hikaku only nodded and pulled a scroll out of his pocket. He passed it to Tobirama.

“Apologies. Tsubame-san is unwell this morning. I have been assigned to replace her.”

Frowning slightly, Tobirama took the scroll and glanced it over. It all looked correct, down to Hashirama’s seal at the bottom. Rerolling it, he handed it back to Hikaku.

“Have you been briefed on the mission?” he asked, while thinking over the… convenience of Hikaku’s assignment as his partner for a highly classified mission so soon after that disastrous patrol. It could be that all was as Hikaku said, and his original partner was simply ill; or Hikaku could have replaced Tsubame for a specific purpose. Perhaps he intended to finish what his kin Saito had attempted, and kill him in the middle of it. 

Hikaku had been nothing but cordial in their interactions thus far, but it was a possibility Tobirama would be foolish to rule out. 

He would have to always be on his guard. Hikaku’s skill demanded such.

“No, Senju-sama. Just to come prepared for several day’s hard travel,” Hikaku answered.

He glanced at the man from his periphery, and said, “Just Tobirama will do, Uchiha-san, if we’re to be partners.” 

Tobirama wasn’t entirely sure he was comfortable with the familiarity, it was generally a good idea for mission partners to at least be on friendly terms. Much as they could be. He would make the effort. 

Though Tobirama could not trust him, he would do his best to be cordial to the man until he proved his intentions. 

Hikaku nodded, and offered Tobirama the same courtesy.

“Very well, Hikaku-san,” Tobirama agreed. “I will inform you of the particulars on the road. Shall we go?”

Hikaku nodded and together they left Konoha through the brand new gates. The trees around the village were huge, dense, and thick. One of the next major projects on Tobirama’s ever growing list was to create passable roads to and from the new village, linking it with outlying towns and other roads. 

It would have to wait. For now, he and Hikaku took to the trees, keeping abreast of each other as they leapt from bough to bough while Tobirama explained. 

“We are being sent on behalf of Konohagakure to negotiate the incorporation of the Hyuuga clan into the village.”

He felt Hikaku’s eyes flick to him, uncertain, and was unsurprised. The Uchiha lands lay between the Senjus and the Hyuugas, so Tobirama had very little personal experience with the other clan. Only the one mission in Tanuri months ago, though he, like nearly everyone, knew of the Hyuuga by reputation. Hikaku and the Uchiha, on the other hand, had likely met them on the battlefield often. 

“We are the second wave of ambassadors to visit them. Despite the ambassador being an Uchiha, his reports indicated that they were inclined to join. The Hokage has invested us with the authority to negotiate the final terms of their inclusion to the village.”

Hikaku nodded. Tobirama glanced at him, but whatever thoughts Hikaku had about the mission, or the Uchiha’s vital role in securing the alliance, he kept them to himself.

“I estimate it will take at least four days to reach the Hyuuga compound if the weather is with us.”

Hikaku nodded, and fell back to flank Tobirama’s right side. 

The rest of the day passed in silence. For Tobirama, it was an oddly refreshing change. He had become accustomed to either sharing his thoughts with Izuna or being otherwise barraged with a hundred people needing _something_ from him. It was calming to just be able to _run_ for a while.

And plan. He had a lot to think over.

That night, they made camp on the forest floor, in the shadow of the massive pines. Tobirama found a nearby pond, and used his sensor ability to locate a few fish just below the surface. Using a few perfectly aimed senbon trailing ninja wire, he brought them back for dinner. Hikaku had already made a small fire.

Perfunctory, Tobirama gutted and cleaned his catch, looking up to find Hikaku holding out a few debarked and sharpened sticks to roast their dinner on. He skewered fish, and handed two to Hikaku to set to roast on his own.

As soon as he’d finished eating, disposing of the bony carcasses in the fire, Tobirama leaned back against a tree root and surveyed his travel companion. 

“What do you know about the Hyuuga?” he asked.

Hikaku looked up from his dinner and answered. “Nothing useful for negotiations.”

Tobirama hummed. “Anything is better than nothing,” he said. “I have little personal experience with the Hyuuga clan.”

To his surprise, Hikaku shrugged and answered. “They have unique eyes, called the _byakugan_ that have a 360 degree range. It can see through just about any impediment, including walls and buildings. They also apparently have the ability to see, and target, the chakra systems of their opponents.”

“Apparently?” Tobirama asked. If the Uchiha were good at one thing, it was getting information out of their enemies. It was one of the reasons the Senju had diversified their fighting styles so drastically in self-defense.

“They also have a seal on their forehead which is very effective at stopping anyone from gaining information from them, specifically about their eyes. It works like a suicide switch. If you try and pry information out of them, the seal activates and they die,” Hikaku paused, adding another log to the fire. “It burns the eyes out of their skull. Same thing happens when they fall on the battlefield. Even their corpses won’t give up their secrets.”

That obviously unnerved Hikaku by his aura, but Tobirama was fascinated. Seal work so tied to a person that it activated even after death could open many possibilities....

But Hikaku continued before he could ruminate further.

“Their main fighting style involves closing chakra tenketsu points and neutralizing their enemy’s ability to channel chakra at all to that area. Worse, without chakra, the area becomes entirely unresponsive. If they complete their ultimate technique and close all sixty-four tenketsu points, the total chakra deprivation kills their opponent.” 

“Fascinating,” said Tobirama. This was weaponizing exceptional sight in a way he had never considered. 

Possibilities raced through his mind. He wondered if a Hyuuga would be able to look at Izuna and discover what was keeping him from waking. Or if he could somehow utilize this new information on blocked chakra systems as a catalyst for immobility as a starting point in order to wake his patient. It bore further thinking some other time. 

For now, there were more important questions he needed answered. Like, “Do they have a weakness?” 

Their abilities seemed ideal for ambush rather than open warfare, but he was certain the Uchiha had tried it. They weren’t known for subtlety in raids, after all. And if the Hyuuga _had_ a weakness, surely the Uchiha would have found it. 

Hikaku smirked. “They typically like to stay in one place while they’re fighting.”

Interesting. This implied that if someone could move faster than their Hyuuga enemy, could get inside their guard, or even prolong the fight from a distance and wear them out, that their advantageous eyesight might be neutralized. 

“Their ancestral lands play well to their strengths” Hikaku continued, tossing his own finished meal into the flames flickering across his pale face. “It is mountainous, with sharp cliffs and narrow paths, a labyrinth if you don’t stick to the roads, which are carved out of the mountainside.”

“Meaning, on their lands you must face them one on one and in close quarters.”

Hikaku smirked up at him, but it was more commiserating than Tobirama expected.

“As I said, plays to their strengths. Getting up close and personal with a _jyuuken_ user is just asking for trouble. I’ve heard that their compound is on a mountain lake, but I’ve never been there, so I can’t really speak past rumor,” Hikaku said, and then turned his attention back to the fire, evidently done talking. 

That was fine. Tobirama had more than enough to occupy his thoughts. 

Tobirama pulled a scroll out of his notebook, ignoring how the _pop_ of its summoning echoed around the clearing, and jotted down the ideas about Izuna’s care so that he could go over them when he returned. If the chakra pathways could be opened and closed with precise application of chakra, perhaps that could be utilized to wake Izuna. But how to accomplish that without being able to see the said pathways? Were chakra points consistent between humans, or was there individuality in their placement? Could someone without sight learn them, like an anatomy chart, or would he need a Hyuuga conspirator? To that end, was there a specific order that the points needed to be opened in order to restore mobility? Was it even possible to do so?

Even more fascinating, however, was the possibility of creating a seal that activated post mortem. The idea of a seal somehow allowing a corpse to animate beyond its given lifespan, with no internal energy to draw from as a catalyst to effecting the body itself was fascinating. Perhaps he had been going about his reanimation process incorrectly? Perhaps utilizing seals, he could keep a corpse moving for its host. But how to get the seal inside the body? More, how to tie a soul to a particular seal. 

There was also the possibility of activating seals upon the users death, tied directly into their chakra system to destroy evidence that could be used. What if he could tie his personal wards, the ones that hid Izuna’s burning presence from the other sensors in Konoha, to deactivate upon his death? 

Could it be used on his clones to prolong their lifespan past his own? He’d already devised a method of stabilizing them, but in order for his current plan to avoid abandoning Izuna to work, he needed to have time to send a message to the clone watching his patient, and have the clone dismantle the wards before he died. 

It raised the question of whether or not his clone would still retain its own mobility if the caster died. (It was one question, he would never have the answer for unless he taught the ability to someone else first… Who then died... Hm.) 

There were so many ideas that bore further thinking in regards to his current predicament in light of this information...

Perhaps the notoriously private Hyuuga’s vision could answer questions about chakra that had eluded so many theorists?

“What are you working on?” Hikaku asked after a few moments. 

Tobirama looked up and across the small fire at the Uchiha. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked him what he was working on with genuine interest. Most people knew better. “Ideas for how the _byakugan_ could be utilized in medical applications.”

“Not as a weapon?” Hikaku’s tone was curious, rather than accusing. 

“If we are going to attain a lasting peace, we need to look beyond the applications of our _kekkai genkai_ in war.”

Hikaku was silent for a moment, before tilting his head. “And how would you propose to utilize a _sharingan_ for something other than war?” 

Tobirama paused his writing, and faced the other man head on. “I have not given the matter much thought. I only possess a rudimentary understanding of its functionality after facing it in battle, beyond that it allows for liminal control of photons to create an illusion of time slowing for the user. Either that, or they function within the fabric of space-time to allow for the user to alter their experience of time through the relativity theory. Beyond that, I have fought with many Uchiha whose eyes seem to possess a vast variance of specialties.” To his credit, Hikaku didn’t flinch at the reminder, indirect as it was of Tobirama’s battles with Izuna. “Without more first hand knowledge, Uchiha, further speculation would be a pointless endeavor.”

“Hikaku,” the man corrected him. 

Tobirama huffed. “The point stands.”

“Hmm,” said Hikaku, closing his eyes. 

Tobirama waited for a response for a moment, before going back to his writing. 

“The _sharingan_ evolves as proficiency in its use increases,” said Hikaku, suddenly. 

Tobirama looked up from his notebook, honestly surprised that Hikaku was offering to share information on the _sharingan_ freely. That kind of information was usually kept well guarded and within a clan. There was always a fear that someone would try to steal or copy a _kekkai genkai_, and the _sharingan_ had no lack of people desiring to utilize it for their own gains. This had led to widespread kidnapping of children, and the theft of bodies. That Hikaku had shared what he knew of an enemy with a mission partner was to be expected. That he was voluntarily sharing secrets of the Uchiha clan, but particularly with him, a Senju, was not. 

But then, perhaps the other man planned to kill Tobirama, so it wouldn’t matter in the end.

Hikaku continued. “The final evolution of a _sharingan_ is unique to the user. The pattern at the heart of the pupil shifts in its final form. We call it the _mangekyo_. For an Uchiha to attain that final level, they must witness the loss of their most precious person. Madara is among the very few to have reached the _sharingan’s_ full potential.” 

Tobirama was surprised. Biological evolutions didn’t rely on emotional responses to begin said mutation. Perhaps the _sharingan_ was something else, then? 

He wondered how many Uchiha had witnessed the loss of their friends and relatives and how only such loss would lead to greater power. It was the most terrible curse he could imagine. Surely, the maker had not intended this. 

“There has to be another way to attain that power,” he said, thinking out loud. 

“No,” argued Hikaku. “Only loss has brought out the full strength of the _sharingan_. Do not be grieved. All power requires sacrifice. Besides, it suited us well when we were at war.” 

Tobirama bowed to Hikaku’s knowledge of the issue, but privately felt that there had to be a different explanation. 

He wondered how Hikaku had received his _sharingan_, but was hesitant to ask. Tobirama was well aware that his questions often seemed invasive, and he did not want to offend his partner, especially in the light of such open honesty. 

“You’re _sharingan_ is fully developed, I take it?” At Hikaku’s nod, he decided to risk offending the man for his answer. “Would you tell me how you obtained your final development, Hikaku-san?”

“We do not speak of it,” said Hikaku.

Tobirama nodded, disappointed. “I understand. Please forgive my offense.” 

Hikaku threw his head back to look at the canopy of leaves. His hand ran up and down the smooth wood of his staff, leaned on his shoulder, in a soothing motion. 

Tobirama had never met an Uchiha who didn’t have a flare for the overdramatic, but he’d been hoping Hikaku was the exception to the rule. He’d been the ideal traveling companion thus far, but if he’d offended the Uchiha… 

“I watched you cut down Izuna.” 

Tobirama’s gaze snapped back to the Uchiha, surprised. 

He hadn’t been aware they had been close. 

“I see.”

Hikaku scoffed. “Che, I didn’t tell you to make you feel guilty, Senju.” 

Tobirama knew that. He also recognized that Hikaku had dropped the pretense of familiarity, and referred to him only by last name. He bowed his head in supplication anyway. “I apologize.” 

“It was war, Senju.” His senses told him that Hikaku was angry. It was a familiar emotion from Uchiha in general, especially around him, but had been surprisingly absent during this mission thus far. It was all the more clear for its sudden surge. 

“All the same,” said Tobirama. 

Hikaku didn’t acknowledge the apology further. “My _sharingan_ manifested for the first time when I was nine,” he said, changing the subject with obvious deliberation. “It was like suddenly seeing in color. Everything was sharper, clearer, slower.” 

“I see,” said Tobirama, relieved as the anger dissipated as Hikaku continued speaking. “Did it activate in response to a teammate being killed at the first stage?”

“You’re nosy, aren’t you Senju?” 

Tobirama shrugged. It was not the first time he’d been accused of such. “You are under no obligation to answer, Uchiha.” 

“I stepped between my teammate and an attack, actually,” said Hikaku, apparently not as opposed to the question as he’d implied. 

“So, it activated in defense? Or as a response to feeling helpless?” 

Hikaku appeared to think on it. “I suppose so,” he finally agreed some time later. 

“Then it’s possible that the impetus of all evolutions of the _sharingan_ are not emotions triggered by the loss itself, but the desire to push beyond the body’s current limits in order to better defend comrades.” 

Hikaku stared at him. 

Tobirama stared back, waiting for his response. 

“I’ve never thought of it that way before,” said Hikaku after a long pause. “It goes against all of the lore of the Uchiha, but I suppose the logic is sound, in it’s own way.” 

Tobirama continued thinking on it, and mused, “I’d always thought the Uchiha were unfeeling, dramatic bastards, but you care far more deeply than most for it to be the catalyst for a biological change.” 

Hikaku laughed, his bright presence bubbling in his amusement, and said, “Don’t let it get around, Senju.” 

Tobirama nodded, a grin threatening to curl his lips. 

“Your secret’s safe with me, Uchiha.”

-

The first sign of the veritable shit storm to come occured when Hatake Akiko arrived back from the border to find her seventeen year old son still lounging on the _engawa_ of their new home. He was reading, like usual, but that wasn’t what brought her up short.

“Why aren’t you on your patrol?” she demanded.

He jolted, pages of his book fluttering and then crunching as he scrambled to hold onto it while he sat up.

“Kaa-san! When did you-”

“Just now,” she cut off his question. Her mission with Tobirama to the border had been a success, though not without cost. She thought she might hear the Senju’s pained huff of breath and squelch of blood as he removed the knife from his back for _months_. 

She had never liked Uchihas. Madness and stupidity punctuated a line more dedicated to _self_ than _pack_, and Saito had highlighted these traits only nearly as well as the other Uchiha she and the the patrol had picked up on their way back.

Uchiha Kenichi was one of the least pleasant people she had ever encountered. If she _never_ worked with him again, it would be too soon.

None of which explained why her son, Toboe, was still here and not already on his own patrol as scheduled.

“... How did it go?” he asked, scruffy white hair flopping in his face as he tried to give her a wide, puppy-dog eyed stare. 

She raised a white eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “It went fine,” she drawled, which was all she was going to tell the brat. “Now, why are you still here?”

“Uh,” he stalled as he stood, long gangly limbs reminding her of a pup half-grown. “My orders never came in.”

Her eyebrow ticked higher. “So, you decided to laze away your morning?”

To his credit, he at least had the good sense to look ashamed.

“Well,” she decided when he didn’t give her any excuses. “We’d better go find out what’s going on.”

With that, she turned on her heels and walked right back out the way she had come, confident that he would follow if he knew what was good for him. From the scuffled scurrying, she was right on the money.

“But-” he began, paused as he almost thought better of it, then mustered his gumption to continue. “Are you sure you don’t want to shower or rest or something? You just got back…”

“Ha!” she barked. Sure, she was covered in mud, her hair was more brown than white at this point, and she had been away from her bed for over a week, but she had also had an exhilarating run, antsy to get back, that she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest if she tried. She had planned to find that wayward husband of hers to try and burn off some of this energy, but that could wait. 

She’d wanted to check on Tobirama anyway, and if anyone would know what had delayed the patrols, it would be the man who’d written up the schedule himself. 

The sun had just come up, and people were just now heading out to work, but the Hokage Tower was already buzzing. She let people dive out of her way as she made her way up to where she knew Tobirama’s office lay.

Only to find it empty.

Huh. Well, that explained that. Sort of.

Next stop then, the Hokage’s office. Her boy still nipping at her heels as she cut through the hallways once more. 

They made it as far as the receiving room. She found it full of a dozen secretaries, admins and assorted other headless chickens running about, a few clan heads she recognized, some people in court attire she assumed were from the Capital, and all signs pointing to an already busy day for Konoha’s leader.

At least it was easy enough to find the man in charge. Not the Hokage of course; he was behind another door, no doubt making nice with one of these monkeys. But Akiko knew who really ran her own clan’s business. She found her secretary’s counterpart in the man who seemed to be corralling everyone out here. 

“You!” she snapped at Mitari, the Hokage’s personal assistant. He jumped from where he was already talking to two other people, and glared at her, which she didn’t mind. At least she had his attention, “Where’s Tobirama?”

His glare didn’t lessen, but he answered, “On a vital mission to the Hyuuga lands. He’ll be gone for a few weeks.”

And then he tried to go back to what he was doing, the poor fool.

He had a lot to learn. 

Toboe leaned against the doorway to watch in the way all young people enjoyed watching their parents scold someone else. 

Stalking over to the secretary, she put herself, all six-foot-two of her, in between Mitari and whoever he was supposed to be talking to.

“Then who’s handling the patrol schedule?” she asked as she loomed.

He took a full step back, his confusion blended with fear. “What do you mean?”

Her coal eyes would have rolled right out of her head if it was at all anatomically possible, but it made her point well enough.

“The border patrols? Tobirama was handling them, and yet my boy didn’t get marching orders this morning, and I _know_ he was scheduled. So. What gives?”

Mitari sputtered, “I thought one of the Uchiha were handling it?”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. Or snarled. It was hard to tell sometimes.

“Some coordinator you are. Tobirama’s been taking care of it for weeks. Now. Where’s the schedule?”

“I- I don’t know. Maybe his assistant Taka…”

“Okay, where is she?”

“She-” and it was like a terrified lightbulb flickered behind his eyes. “She took the day off, because Tobirama’s not in. I assume he delegated it to someone…”

She could have let it go. She could have let the man flounder until he found that mythical someone else or dug up the schedule Tobirama had already made up. 

But that could take hours, and their borders were undefended _now_. 

The Hatake were a small clan, only seven nuclear families between them, less than half a hundred members to claim total, much less shinobi. But they were fierce, and loyal, and not the type to sit by when something needed _done_.

“Fine,” she said, decided. “When you find out who, send them my way. Until then, the Hatake will handle the patrols.”

She didn’t have to look to know that the choking sound behind her was her son. It was his _panic_ noise. So cute.

“Wha- All of them?” Mitari asked, aghast.

“That’s right. But I _will_ be back tomorrow. And you had better have a better answer than ‘someone was supposed to be handling it’ when I get back.”

She turned back to her son, who was looking at her with the same pleading horror. It nearly warmed her cold, clammy heart. Nearly. As it was, she didn’t even feel the slightest bit of sympathy as she looped an arm around his gangly neck and hauled him over, nearly choking him as she did so.

“Come on, pup,” she said. “We’ve got a pack to rally.”

Mitari watched them go. 

In retrospect, it did not at all appear to be the warning sign that it was.

-

Three days of traveling to the northern border of the Land of Fire, the last two of which were spent in rain that only got colder and more sideways the further up the mountains they trekked, and Hikaku was deeply regretting taking this mission from Tsubame. The trees had thinned as they gained altitude, reaching the beginning of the Great Mountain Range that characterized the Lands of Waterfall, Iron, and Gorges on the other side of the border. He knew the trees would only become more scarce as they went on, leaving Hikaku and his Senju companion without cover as they entered Hyuuga lands.

At least the company was interesting and scrupulously reliable. Hikaku had never traveled so far with anyone less inclined to complain. 

Even Hikaku felt irritable. He hadn’t been dry in days. 

Still, they clambered on. The loose shale of the path beneath their feet made keeping their footing difficult, even despite using chakra to adhere. The slightest lapse in attention and the loose, slippery rocks would skitter out from under their feet and fall the tens of meters back down to the last switchback.

He had wanted to just go straight up and over, but Tobirama had decided against that with annoyingly clear cut logic.

_“Skipping ahead on the path might lead us to losing our way,” he had said. Hikaku was ready to risk it, and his face must have shown it, so Tobirama had continued. “We are approaching as friends. To show undue haste might be read as aggressive.” _

_“But they know we’re coming,” Hikaku had protested, arm up to keep the driving rain from going into his eyes. This was misery, he’d decided, wondering what evil spirit he had insulted to deserve such punishing weather._

_Tobirama had just hummed, noncommittally. He sounded unconvinced, but Hikaku wasn’t sure what about. Nonetheless, he had stood firm. _

_“We will exercise caution. Appearing in any way threatening will not aid negotiations.”_

So here they were, still trudging up a mountain in a downpour, the air chilling as the sun dipped behind the peaks surrounding them. 

At least, by the rate they were travelling and Tobirama’s expectation, they should reach the Hyuuga compound sometime the next day. Unfortunately, places to camp were few and far between as the landscape around them became more and more vertical. It didn’t look like they would reach another plateau before dark.

Up ahead, becoming more and more clear through the rain as they approached, a small cave appeared to be cut out of the mountainside. It was the mouth of a mountain spring, Hikaku judged by the small creek that trickled out of the cave, carving a shallow ditch out of the path, barely discernible in the rain. On either side of the entrance were stone statuettes, once intricately carved figures now unrecognizable, their features weathered away. A battered _shimenawa_ rope, its tassels stained and ripped, hung above the entrance, rotting with lack of upkeep. 

Hikaku shared a look with Tobirama that might have been a shade pleading. Whatever deity inside surely wouldn’t mind sharing its space with two weary travelers. Besides, they were shinobi, famously practical in their religion. 

He wasn’t sure if it was because Tobirama was just as beleaguered by the weather as him, or purely out of compassion, but the older shinobi nodded. Hikaku gratefully headed inside the cave. It was dark inside, the trickle of water echoing off the stone walls became audible as the roar of the rain outside quieted in the dim. Activating his _sharingan_, Hikaku took a better look around.

The cave was low, just high enough that they didn't have to stoop. Towards the back, it narrowed further, burrowing deep into the mountain. At the point where the spring gave way to the cavern proper, there was a stone trough that funnelled the water from the spring out and around a bronze statue of a dragon, green with age. The dragon spat a spout of water from its mouth into the flow below it. The water, once collected, travelled out of the ladle lined trough, into a ditch, and out the cave mouth. Beside the platform on which the dragon stood was a box for offerings. A bronze bell hung from the ceiling. It clearly hadn’t been rung in years. 

“I’ll find some wood for a fire,” Tobirama said.

Hikaku thought about arguing. As the subordinate on the mission, he should insist, but his hair was a matted, sopping disaster, he was pruned all over, and couldn’t imagine voluntarily spending one more moment in the rain. In any case, Tobirama didn’t wait for an answer. Just vanished back out into the monsoon. 

Looking around, Hikaku took in the thick layer of moss that threatened to cover everything, holding in the damp. If it was dry, it might’ve made a pleasant cushion for their bedrolls. But the damp would make sleeping a misery. 

Flashing through the hand-seals, he did a small katon jutsu to burn away enough of it to make room for them to lie down, careful not to disturb anywhere near the shrine itself. It left the stone blissfully warm, even if it filled the room with smoke and steam. At least it was warm.

Tobirama returned after Hikaku had taken down and drug a comb through his hair. He was stripping off his saturated Uchiha blacks, and because Tobirama was a saint, he’d brought back two rabbits as well as enough wood for a small fire. When he handed the firewood and rabbits over to Hikaku, his eyes were watering. Hikaku figured he wasn’t used to the smoke.

Tobirama flashed through just two hand-seals, ending on bird, saying, _“Fuuton: Tempuu_.”

A gust of wind came out of nowhere, swirling up from the entrance, down the back wall, and then back out of the cave, taking the ash, steam, and smoke with it. It would have taken Hikaku’s cloak too, had he not grabbed it before it could fly off the arm it was tucked over.

Well, whatever worked. Hikaku got to work on the fire, stacking up rocks to form a circle and piling the wood inside, about to use another _kanton_, but Tobirama moving away distracted him.

He watched as the Senju approached the Spring Spirit’s statue. He blinked in shock as the other man brought his hands together in prayer and bowed to the dragon. Even though he was still wet from the rain, Tobirama picked up one of the ladles and began the steps of _chozu_ purification, washing his left hand, right hand, and mouth with the spring water, before returning the ladle. 

Never would he have guessed that Senju Tobirama was the least bit devout. It filled him with a strange sense of guilt that he had not done the same. After all, they were in this spirit’s home. 

Quickly, he flashed out the _katon_ to get the fire going and stood to join Tobirama by the fountain. The other man hadn’t moved, instead was rummaging through his pouch. He pulled out a coin as Hikaku approached and took the ladle. Hikaku watched out of the corner of his eye as Tobirama put it into the rotting alms collector and rang the bell. It echoed around them.

With the precision of an expert, Tobirama bowed twice, clapped twice, leaving his hands before him in the traditional prayer pose as he closed his eyes and, well, presumably prayed. 

That was a bit further than Hikaku was willing to go, so he left the other man to it. 

He returned to the fire and laid out his soggy cloak next to it to dry. He took the rabbits to the mouth of the cave to skin and prepare for cooking, careful to stay within the shelter.

Tobirama had his armor off and was sitting by the fire when he returned.

He’d rigged up a spit to roast the rabbits on, and Hikaku added the raw meat in silence. The first few days of this mission, Hikaku had felt as though he were in close quarters with a half-tamed tiger. He had seen Senju Tobirama take on a dozen shinobi at once and not only survive, but come out without a scratch; could viscerally see the monster as he lifted Saito clear off his feet. 

But now, sitting in a dim shrine, the rain pounding outside, the smell of roasting rabbit and minerals surrounding them, Tobirama had removed his metaphorical armor as well as his hard plate. He sat across the fire Hikaku had built, elbows resting on his knees and looked… tired. Resting. 

Hikaku looked away. “What did you pray for?” he asked to break the eerie silence. 

Tobirama didn’t answer right away, so Hikaku dared to glance at him, but the Senju hadn’t looked up, hadn’t pulled his gaze away from the flames. 

Hikaku waited. He vaguely expected a traditional answer, maybe a prayer for victory, or prosperity for his family, or continued health, or even giving thanks to the deity of the cave for the shelter. Any of those would help realign his observations of Tobirama with his old expectations. 

“I prayed for the souls of my brothers.”

The words rang in the silence as powerfully as the old bell’s throaty chime.

Hikaku knew he was staring. He couldn’t help it. Nor could he find the words to respond, apologize. 

No doubt due to his silence, Tobiama looked up, eyes pinpointing Hikaku’s gaze from across the fire. Hikaku met his gaze, there was no pain, nor any emotion really. But no one prayed for family who was not still mourning. 

“What were their names?” Hikaku found himself asking. It was only because he still had his _sharingan_ active in deference to the dark that he caught the tightening around Tobirama’s eyes and immediately regretted asking.

Tobirama answered anyways. 

“Kawarama and Itama.” The Senju reached out and turned the rabbit.

There were half a dozen questions Hikaku wanted to ask. When did they die? How did they die? How old were they? But all of those sounded cruel even before they were spoken, and Hikaku wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know those answers. The war had been long, with losses on both sides. He had learned long ago that asking after the fallen often reopened old wounds that had once been scared over by time. If they had died young (and he knew at least one of them had), the war with the Uchiha was doubtless to blame, if not Uchiha swords. 

“What were they like?” he asked instead.

Tobirama reached beside him for another stick to add to the fire. It hissed and popped as the wet fuel was consumed, embers sparking small stars into the air.

“Better than me,” Tobirama said.

Hikaku felt as though his lungs had been scraped out. Breathing was hard. It was like that day in the forest, a week ago, when Tobirama had leapt between him and an enemy, only to then spare a disgraceful friend. In that moment, everything Hikaku thought he knew about Tobirama had flowed away with the blood sliding from the man’s wound. He had tried to justify his previous perceptions, find the flaw in his new found understanding. But those further assumptions followed the water of the shine away and out of reach.

He wasn’t going to ask anymore. He already felt like he had grievously invaded the other man’s privacy, but Tobirama surprised him by continuing. 

“Kawarama was nine, and already twice as talented as I was at that age. He took after our mother, level headed, rooted to the ground like an old oak tree. You'd think he was fifty before he was five. He could fight a shinobi more than three times his age on even footing, could do water and earth jutsus as easily as other people breathe. Our father thought he would follow Hashirama with the mokuton within the year, but he died instead, cut down on a battlefield we had no business being on.”

Breathing wasn’t getting any easier.

“Itama was...” Here, Tobirama paused, and Hikaku wanted to beg him to not continue. “Itama was the best of us. He was kind hearted, soft in ways our father despaired at, but the strongest of all of us to stay so _good_ in the hell we threw him into.”

He huffed a laugh. “He was so stubborn, unbelievably so. Hotheaded, always in a hurry, but _kind_. He wanted to become the best shinobi in the world to protect what brothers he had left. He would follow me everywhere. He was…”

_Everything_. Tobirama didn’t have to say it. Hikaku could hear it in the grief of his voice.

“He died. Cornered and surrounded by five Uchihas, if the tracks were true. It took us two days to find what was left of his body and bring it home. They cut him to pieces.”

Hikaku wanted to throw up. He had been raised a shinobi, in the midst of war, but even for him, there were some things that were unspeakable. Things he wished he could forget. 

He’d known about the Uchiha child hunters, in that vague way that historical facts were discussed, but it was another thing to put a name to a victim, acknowledge the life half-lived, and know just how much darker the world was without it, them. 

“I’m sorry,” Hikaku choked out. 

But Tobirama just shook his head and stood. He went over to the mouth of the cave, leaned against the wall and watched the rain.

Hikaku could barely hear him when he said, “It was a long time ago.”

It felt like there was nothing left to say. Hikaku was an only child. The closest thing to siblings he had were his first cousins, Madara and his brothers, Izuna, Souta, Kaitaro, and Itsuki, the last two he had only barely known. He wanted so much to hate Tobirama for what he’d done to Izuna, what his family had done to Hikaku’s, but…

Izuna had tried to kill Tobirama for years, had talked non-stop about how he would one day manage to kill the Senju bastard. Surely, his death had to be put down to karma. And it was clear now that Tobirama had just as much cause to hate as the Uchiha did. 

But the Senju didn’t. That much was becoming more and more clear. 

Perhaps it was time for a prayer of his own. He fished out a five ryo coin from his purse and stood. As he rang the bell, bowed and clapped, he prayed for Izuna. For Souta. For Kaitaro and Itsuki. For all the family he’d lost. And then, with only slight hesitation, he prayed for Kawarama and Itama.

_‘Please, spirit of these waters, bring them my apologies on behalf of my clan. I hope they find peace.’_

He looked over his shoulder. Tobiama was still by the door, back to him. After the knife such behavior had wrought three days ago, Hikaku felt somewhat more in awe of Tobirama than even before.

_‘And please, if it is not too much trouble, please watch over Senju Tobirama. Bring him the peace he is trying so hard to build.’_

He ended his prayer with a sigh. Looking once more at the lonely figure in the doorway, he glanced back at the fire.

And then squawked loudly, and had to race over to stop the rabbit from burning.

Holding the slightly more than slightly charred rabbit, he glanced over at Tobirama. The other man was watching him, smirk on his face. His single raised white eyebrow was enough to make Hikaku blush and scowl with embarrassment.

There was the arrogant asshole. Hikaku had wondered where he was hiding.

-

The next morning, the rain was replaced by a thick, choking fog. 

They left the small shrine, bowing to the hospitable spirit on their way out. Though it was no longer raining, a blessing, now the damp stuck to them, misting, present and infuriatingly not. Within an hour after dawn they were soaked again. This compounded that they could no longer see past the rocks beneath their feet. The cliff, grey and sheer rose a foot to their right, and fell away a foot to their left. There was nothing to hold onto.

Tobirama could freely admit to himself that he was not at his best. The first two nights with Hikaku, he hadn’t really dared to sleep, only fall into the half-meditative rest he had only half-perfected. But Hikaku hadn’t tried anything, and by last night, in the peace of that small shrine, he had been run down and tired enough to let his guard down and loosen his tongue. After, he’d actually slept, and hard, only awakening when Hikaku shook his shoulder, but it was only four hours in the last who knew how many. He felt his hands beginning to shake. They would need to reach the Hyuuga compound tonight.

So, regardless of how tired he was or how unforgiving the conditions were, he pushed them hard.

Hikaku didn’t complain, even after he’d scraped his hands catching himself from a fall. They must be getting close by now.

Tobirama felt their company long before he saw them. He’d been expecting the Hyuuga to arrive eventually, but...

He held up a hand, and glanced over his shoulder to meet Hikaku’s eye as they slowed to a stop. Muttering just loud enough to carry, he said, “Something’s wrong.”

A dozen chakra signatures that had departed from the cluster of lights that Tobirama had been using as their guide to the Hyuuga strong hold, had fanned out on the cliffs around them. But rather than the welcome he’d been expecting, these signatures were bristling. 

Far too aggressive a welcome for expected visitors. 

He had no doubt they could see them. They were above, below, all around. 

Hikaku moved closer, his chakra flaring as his _sharingan_ activated.

“We’ve been surrounded.”

Up ahead, as the wind swirled the mist, a figure in white appeared, blocking the narrow path. The white of his kimono top fluttered in the slight breeze.

“Hyuuga,” Hikaku muttered. “Eyes. And the seal.”

Tobirama nodded. The figure’s irises (gender was indiscernible at this distance and made little difference in the wake of the amount of threatening swell of chakra Tobirama could feel) were milky white. He would have assumed the person had cataracts, and severe ones at that, but for the chakra he could sense focused there and the bulging veins that surrounded them. The seal displayed proudly on the Hyuuga's brow looked to be some sort of dead man’s switch, if his guess was right (and it normally was when it came to seals).

The stranger stood up straight, but Tobirama could read the tension they carried in their posture. Still, he wouldn’t be intimidated. They were here on a diplomatic mission, and all the intel had indicated a receptive audience awaited that mission. He wondered what kind of game the Hyuuga was playing. 

He took another step forward. 

The Hyuuga slid down into an unfamiliar taijutsu stance, turning sideways on the narrow path. Perpendicular to them, with a right foot pointed at them, he raised a hand before his eyes in a knife-hand strike. Said hand began to glow blue, ethereal in the mist. 

Not so welcome then. 

“You will go no further,” the stranger said.

Tobirama felt another Hyuuga drop in behind them, while the other ten continued to watch from above in various positions. 

Behind him, Hikaku reached back to put a hand on his staff, but Tobirama held up a hand for him to hold. He waited to see if the Uchiha would obey his order to stand down. The last thing he needed was for the situation to escalate. After a moment, he heard Hikaku drop his hand again.

Tobirama’s mind whirled. 

Clearly, they had been set up.

The mission report had indicated that the Hyuuga were more than ready to join Konoha, that they required no more convincing beyond someone with the authority to sign the treaty itself to appear ready to approve a prearranged, pre-agreed upon treaty. They were supposed to sort out minor details, not negotiate with a hostile force. 

But this reception could not be more plain. 

Whatever he had thought he’d known about the current situation between the Hyuuga and Konoha, it was clearly not correct. 

Very well. Then they simply need to start again.

“My name is Senju Tobirama,” he said, pitching his voice to carry. He felt the chakra signatures around them flare. It seemed his reputation preceeded him. He could work with that. “I am the heir presumptive to the Senju clan. With me is Uchiha Hikaku, the same for the Uchiha clan. We have come in person to plead the case of Konohagakura with the Hyuuga Clan Head and their council. I would know who I have the honor of addressing.”

The Hyuuga ahead of them scowled. “I am Hyuuga Asahi, first cousin to the Clan Head, Hyuuga Hanami.”

Tobirama bowed, holding the position until Hikaku beside him did the same.

“We are honored,” he said.

“Honored or not, it makes no difference. You will go no further.” 

Tobirama straightened to full height. He was very aware of how intimidating his direct stare could be, and remembered what Hikaku had said about the Hyuuga eyes. Even with the _kage bunshin_ he’d left behind in the village and practically no sleep since he’d left Konoha, his current state of exhaustion was nothing compared to what it had been recently. As physically trying as the last few days had been, they were more an exercise in control than anything that took any effort. That, combined with the chakra storing seal sending a boost of energy back into his system at his meer thought, left him with easily three times as much chakra as _any_ of the Hyuuga who thought to intimidate _him_.

The water particles in the mist were pushed away as his chakra burst from his pores, visible even without the Hyuugas famous eyes in a bright blue wave. The Hyuuga Asahi’s eyes widened, then squinted at the brightness. He took a subtle step back. So too did Hikaku, which may have brought Tobirama a bit of undue pleasure. Wouldn’t want the Uchiha to get too comfortable. 

“You have your orders, and we have ours,” Tobirama said, tone cordial even as his aura was not. “We will speak with the Hyuuga head. I should hope that no one here would be willing to trade useless violence when all we ask for is words.”

The silence was heavy, the weight of an impending storm just before lightning cracks. 

Finally, the Hyuuga straightened from his combat stance. His _byakugan_ was still active, but he had decided not to fight. At least, not yet.

“Very well. Follow me.”

Without another word, the Hyuuga turned, his long brown hair swirling behind them. He didn’t wait for their answer before beginning to lead them along the path. 

Tobirama and Hikaku followed, hyper aware of the other Hyuuga, so far ignored by both of them, still surrounding them just out of sight through the mist.

“What is happening? I thought they were ready for peace talks?” Hikaku hissed at him as they moved forward together, just low enough not to carry in the echoing moisture.

His surprise felt genuine, which was almost as amusing as it was reassuring. Clearly, Hikaku was not familiar with the way that Tobirama’s missions had been going awry if he had expected this to go to plan. But, it was solid evidence that Hikaku, at least, hadn’t been aware of this latest bout of sabotage.

“Not now,” replied Tobirama, aware of the eyes on them. 

Hikaku hesitated for a moment before nodding. “I will follow your lead then.”

Tobirama appreciated it, but the Uchiha had the same knowledge of what they were walking into as Tobirama did, perhaps more, given his clan’s familiarity with the Hyuuga.

They marched along the rocky road in silence, up another switchback and a half, clambering around the steep peak to the other side before stopping at the edge of a sheer cliff. 

Their Hyuuga guide gave them a passing glance and stepped off the edge. 

Tobirama looked to Hikaku, checking in, but Hikaku actually looked eager rather than trepidatious, so they followed, feet sticking to the steep stone as easily as they did to the rough trees around their new village. 

Up and down they went, following their guides as they leaped over gorges, ran up and then down and across more cliffs, leaving the known path (and thankfully most of the fog) behind them as they followed their Hyuuga guide through his treacherous home territory. 

The other chakra signatures followed at a distance, using the verticality of the mountains to continue surrounding the Konoha-nin from above as well as around, in front, and behind. Finally, they came to a narrow path, less than ten feet wide, with cliffs flanking either side for at least a hundred meters. In the middle of the pass, at its highest point, stood a torii gate with the Hyuuga clan symbol emblazoned on the crossbeam.

The eleven Hyuuga who had been following at a distance, finally dropped their meaningless attempt at subterfuge and blatantly surrounded them. Tobirama assumed he was meant to be surprised by their sudden appearance, but he didn’t bother sparing them a glance. 

He would not pretend for their vanity that he had not known exactly where they were since long before they’d gotten into position. 

Further, if the sudden increase in numbers was supposed to be intimidating, the Hyuuga needed lessons from the Uchiha. The miniscule chakra they each had in comparison to himself and Hikaku was unimpressive to say the least.

Hikaku walked beside him rather than taking the rear guard as they crested the hill, another show of solidarity he had not expected from his partner, but appreciated all the same. 

Below them, a beautiful valley came into view below them. Hikaku’s rumor was proven true, the Hyuuga compound was indeed on a mountain lake surrounded by tall pines, but the lake was an artificial one, obviously created as a defensive measure by blocking the natural flow of the mountain streams through the valley. 

Even without this most impressive moat, so still it reflected the fortress jutting out of it, there were several other waterways, routed through the outer buildings, creating concentric rings of water to protect the outer buildings as they rose in a maze of tiers held up by sloping walls of grey stone. Above these foundations stood traditional buildings of lacquered black wood and white stucco walls. The main keep had at least five stories, each one smaller than the next as it rose until it’s wing tipped roof appeared to be a staircase to the sky. 

It was easily one of the most impressive fortresses Tobirama had ever seen, grander even than the Fire Daimyo’s palace at the Capital. 

It was equally clear that for all its beauty, this was a fortress built for war, even more so then the Senju compound Tobirama had grown up in, as this compound lacked the surrounding city of wood that the Senju had defended. Nearly all the Hyuuga’s buildings were within the walls and well defended. 

Besides, even from this distance, Tobirama’s sensor ability told him just how manned those formidable walls were. Combined with the empty streets, there was only one possibility. This was a compound on high alert.

Forget welcoming. Whatever had happened between the Hyuuga and Konoha’s last ambassador, it had clearly been an unmitigated disaster. And the bastard had _lied_ about it. 

Tobirama ground his teeth in frustration. This mission just became a thousand times more difficult. Not only must they likely begin from scratch, they also had to undo the damage the last ambassador had done in their name. 

He shot a glance at Hikaku, trying to warn his companion. It must have worked because the other man straightened at his side, and tensed, his chakra filling his skin in readiness. 

The group headed down into the valley slowly. However on alert the compound was, the Hyuuga guard with them showed a worrying complacency, bordering on hubris. Undisciplined chatter broke out behind them, muttered, unnecessary conversations.

The group to their left was loudest, and a little too careless in their talk.

“To think the Uchiha are considered great. I could take this one with one hand behind my back,” boasted one, a boy with unearned arrogance.

Hikaku glanced over, his annoyance buzzing in Tobirama’s senses. A second later he felt Hikaku’s _sharingan_ surge to life, his whole aura turning red with his unleashed Killing Intent as he pinned the boy in place with a glare. 

Terror flashed across the boy’s face as he flinched hard, stumbling backwards as he brought his hands up in defense. 

Served him right. Only an idiot looked an Uchiha in the eye. 

The Hyuuga around them sank into the same odd defensive stance, veins around their unnerving eyes bulging, prepared at once for a fight.

For just a brief moment, Tobirama wanted to leave them to it. Weighing the consequences of doing so. If they thought Hikaku was a pushover, they were in for a dangerous surprise. It would serve them right to learn that lesson the hard way, particularly the boy. 

And a show of their own strength and displeasure would at least put them on equal terms. They could not afford to be seen as weak. 

But it would be unconducive for their alliance to begin with violence. Sighing, Tobirama put the rogue thought down to his general exhaustion.

“Enough, Hikaku,” he said to his teammate. 

Hikaku didn’t answer for a moment, kept his terrifying eyes locked on the idiot for a few seconds more, before letting his irises fade back to black, settling back on his heels, posture ruler straight and nonchalant. He was too professional to petulantly pout, but Tobirama knew the man felt the urge anyway. 

He also knew Hikaku wasn’t going to utilize his _sharingan_ again unless they were truly threatened. 

“What is the meaning of this?” their guide Asahi demanded from his defensive position. 

Tobirama wasn’t certain that Asahi hadn’t heard what the boy had said, but would give him the benefit of the doubt. 

He was professional enough to keep his partner in line, the Hyuuga should have the same courtesy.

“A lesson in expectation. Your subordinate should learn that judging a book by its cover is often a lethal mistake for a shinobi,” said Tobirama. He then turned to the boy, who was flushing red. 

Perhaps he should have left it there, but it had been a long few days, and he was in no mood to let such woeful stupidity slide. “My companion is an expert at his craft. Shinobi operate through the art of being unseen, not the obvious. If you leap to judgement of an opponent based on appearances, it will end one of two ways. Either you are strong enough to survive your assumptions, or you are not, and you are dead because of your own recklessness.”

He didn’t wait for a response before continuing down the road, Hikaku falling-in just behind him to his right. They brushed past Asahi, pointedly ignoring the quiet shuffling behind them that sounded very much like someone getting smacked upside the head.

Moments later, Asahi leapt forward to walk beside Hikaku on Tobirama’s other flank. 

“I apologize for the impudence of my subordinate, Uchiha-san,” Asahi said, inclining his head the exact minimum that an apology required. 

Hikaku crossed his arms as he nodded back, but he refrained from speaking. Neither did he show even the slightest remorse, which Tobirama agreed with on principle. Though Tobirama was opposed to appearing too aggressive, neither did he think they should appear so weak as to accept an insult unanswered. Hikaku was merely following Tobirama’s example. 

The flaring of his chakra had hardly been subtle.

Idly, he wondered what Hikaku had shown the boy, if anything at all. Perhaps Hikaku had only let the appearance and weight of his eyes speak, but perhaps not. All _sharingan_ users were to be treated with extreme caution on principle, but Tobirama was well aware that Hikaku was particularly famous for his devastating genjutsus. Genjutsus that had felled fully fledged veterans within a single glance, even while he was facing another opponent. 

Tobirama had never had the misfortune of facing off against Hikaku on the battlefield; he was, and always had been, Izuna’s opponent. The duty had fallen on Touka instead, her _naginata_ keeping his formidable _gun_ staff at bay. Even she, on one memorable occasion, had been caught by his eyes and nearly killed but for Hashirama’s timely interference. Tobirama had held her hair back post-battle as she shook and vomited, unable to rest, let alone sleep, with the aftereffects of Hikaku’s veritable witchcraft still plaguing her mind, even hours later. 

So, perhaps the man had only tilted his hand a bit, activating his _sharingan_ but going no further, or perhaps he had stared straight into that boy’s soul. Tobirama would never know for certain. He wondered if the boy even knew for certain. 

As he said, only an idiot looked an Uchiha in the eye, let alone Uchiha Hikaku in particular. 

“I beg your pardon as well, Senju-san,” Asahi drew Tobirama from that train of thought. “Your words were well deserved, but Hiroto is young and inex-”

“No,” Tobirama interrupted, feeling waspish. “If he is old enough to participate on missions, he is old enough to know better. Already he is older than either of my brothers were at their deaths. He should be prepared.”

“Were your brothers prepared?” the Hyuuga asked. He felt Hikaku stiffen next to him at the impertinence, but Tobirama could sense no malice in the question, only honest curiosity. 

“No,” Tobirama answered, honest in turn. “They were not. But that is why the village we are building is so important, so that the young might have a chance to live and learn from their mistakes.”

The Hyuuga nodded. His blank expression was impressive, but Tobirama could feel him thinking over the answer carefully. 

Good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope your evening is going well, and that you all enjoyed this chapter. It has some of my very favorite scenes in it, and I hope you all like them as much as I did. As always, I would love to hear you thoughts on them, or just a friendly hello if you are so inclined, whether it's in the comments or on tumblr or discord or whatever, or even just a hit on the kudos heart <3
> 
> Just a little bit of housekeeping before I scurry off to bed. Firstly, just a reminder as we head towards stressful things that there is no character death planned in this fic, and I would definitely tag it if their were, so please trust your loving author. All shall be well. 
> 
> Secondly, I just want to put in a quiet plea if I may. I know that Hashirama is kind of the fandom's punching bag and go-to villain, and he is clearly not at his best here. I always like to hear what people think on my chapters, and I do get the giggles at some of you wishing to cheerfully throw him out a window, but please, this is a safe space. Please keep the outright character bashing to a minimum if at all possible.
> 
> I love all of you and will hopefully see you soon. The next chapter needs a bit of TLC before it's ready for posting, but I might take the opportunity to get a bit a head of myself in case of disaster. As always, big shout out to my beta LostInThePines, who is absolutely amazing and to every one of my commentors/kudosers. You guys give me life.


	11. Chapter 11

Izuna had thought worrying for the health of his Senju minder was bad enough when the man was in the same room as him. Tobirama had several annoying habits. He seemed to be functioning on nothing more than willpower and spite, because Izuna rarely, if ever caught the man sleeping, let alone for a full night, and his eating habits were even worse. 

Now, with the man half a country away, he realized he’d been wrong. This, this was _unbearable_.

Tobirama had only been gone a few days. It wasn’t entirely unprecedented for him to not see the man in a day, sometimes Izuna was not entirely awake for the changing of his clone minders before Tobirama had already left once more.

But then, in one comment from the clone left behind, a musing on whether or not he (it?) would disappear in the wake of his (_its?_) caster’s death, suddenly, Izuna was facing a minor heart attack, quickly followed by a flow of anxiety that he’d been unable to quench for an entire afternoon. 

And the clone, who didn’t seem to have Tobirama’s keen sensing ability (none of them did, strangely enough), would not stop talking about it.

He wondered, not for the first time, he wondered if death would be preferable to living with such acute anxiety?

No such luck.

And okay, it wasn't as if Tobirama himself hadn't mentioned the hypothetical conundrum in passing, had not kept Izuna up to speed on his attempts at finding solutions for the possibility, but that was _Tobirama_, in the room with him, away from harm. Not off on a mission where anything could go wrong. Not after at least one attempt on the man’s life by his own allies let alone the enemies he’d be facing. 

(That Tobirama had mentioned his mission partner was an Uchiha had in no way comforted Izuna’s nerves on that front, by the way.)

But there was no denying that Tobirama was a genius. A formidable force of nature that Izuna could never really understand, even when the man slowed down and explained himself for the sixth time. It was impossible. Tobirama had a thousand thoughts, plans and counter-plans to each and every foreseen consequence, and each one brilliant, steadfast, and steady. 

Coming from Tobirama, the hypothetical rational of wondering whether or not clones created with their own chakra system would vanish if the original died, hadn't been terrifying. Not really. Coming from him, it had felt like something that would be overcome in due course, the same way he had bent space-time and figured out how to be in two places at once, the same way Izuna had to believe he would, he _would_, find a way to wake him. With the same surety that the man would not falter, would discover the solution if he only had enough time to ponder it, whether Izuna wanted him to or not. 

Coming from Tobirama, with him here, watching over Izuna, it hadn't brought anywhere near the same fear that it did when this _shadow_ said it.

He’d acknowledged long ago (to his initial chagrin) that Tobirama's voice left him, after so many months in his care, feeling safe. That the Senju had become synonymous with solutions. 

_This_ reminder that he wasn't infalible, that his safety wasn’t guaranteed for all his brilliance, was jarring. 

Worse, it was yet another reminder of Izuna’s own position, thrust once more in his face. 

If Tobirama were in danger, Izuna was helpless.

Helpless to help, helpless to survive on his own. 

And the clone was still talking, still reasoning through the possibilities of him dissipating without adequate warning, and the likely consequences, rationing his way through the most likely scenarios and sparing Izuna not at all when it inevitably came up that, without the clone there to tend to his body, he’d likely die alone, of dehydration or starvation within the week.

If Tobirama really didn’t come back, if Izuna’s family finally managed to do what Izuna had tried and failed to do for years and kill the Senju…

The thought brought a hammer to his heart and nausea to his gut and-

Izuna couldn’t even vomit, despite his acute panic. Could do nothing but pray to gods he didn’t believe in that the Uchiha didn’t succeed.

If it was an Uchiha, an ally, who cut down Tobirama Senju, especially in Izuna’s name, it wouldn’t be justice. It would be murder, plain and simple. 

Izuna didn’t care if Tobirama was right. Had been right. If revenge was illogical. He didn’t care. If they did, if they killed him, well, Izuna would have some more names to add to his list. Many, many names.

He was an Uchiha. Vengeance was in his blood. And anyone who hurt Tobirama more than he was already hurting would find that out. Intimately. Viciously. 

Just as soon as he got out of this fucking bed.

-

This was not how this mission was supposed to go.

Hikaku had lied to Tobirama when the other man had asked if Hikaku knew anything about the mission. It was nothing personal, not really, he was just curious what the Senju would tell him. In reality, he had looked over not only Tsubame’s mission scroll, but also the one Kenichi had submitted covering his earlier visit with the Hyuuga not two weeks ago. His clansman had reported a cordial visit, that the Hyuuga were tired of war, ready to broker peace, and interested in the village as a concept, exactly as Tobirama told him.

The hostile eyes watching their every move told a very different story.

As they ascended the maze of terraced baileys higher and higher towards the keep, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking to certain death.

Passing through the last of the gatehouses before the keep, climbing the stairs up and under the eyes of the Hyuuga poised above, they found a contingent of Hyuuga in formal kimono waiting for them. 

The Clan Council, clearly, all in somber black obis, lined with white and grey silk. The most elderly stood closest to the bottom steps, their wizened faces and milky eyes measuring him and Tobirama with obvious judgement as they passed. 

At the center, standing above the others on the last step, dressed in pristine white, was what could only be the Clan Head’s main family. 

The main family were all women. Stern, steadfast, and beautiful. 

Among the Uchiha, such things were not done. Wives joined their husbands’ house, not the other way around. They had never had a female Clan Head and likely never would. 

However, if facing off against Senju Touka and watching Tsubame have to fight tooth and nail for the respect that their men received freely for years hadn’t taught Hikaku the fallacy in the assumption that women could not be the equal of men, then joining Konohagakure would have. 

Other Clans did things differently. Maybe it was time the Uchiha did the same?

Still, Hikaku had been under the impression that the Hyuuga were traditionalists. He would never have guessed that they would have a woman at their head, regardless of how formidable she appeared. 

And she was formidable. Hikaku had fought nearly a hundred battles now, and could tell from just her posture that she wasn’t one to give an inch. She was middle aged, with two teenage daughters standing beside her. The mother and eldest daughter, who Hikaku guessed to be around fifteen, wore white hakamas over matching kimono tops, while the younger, maybe twelve, wore just a plain kimono. All had long, straight brown hair tied back, but oddly no seal on their forehead. They were the only Hyuuga who didn’t.

Their faces were as blank as their lilac eyes.

Hikaku was suddenly very aware that he’d been in the same Uchiha blacks for the last four days, and was covered in grime and muck from the road. He stayed just behind Tobirama in stride. He was content to follow Tobirama’s lead. Especially since the other man looked significantly calmer about walking to their possible executions than Hikaku felt anyways.

“What is the meaning of this, Cousin Asahi?” the Hyuuga Head’s alto voice cracked across the courtyard. 

Asahi, on Tobirama’s other side, knelt in supplication.

“Forgive me, Hanami-sama. I was unable to carry out your will.”

Hanami’s eyes narrowed in displeasure, but she dismissed her cousin, left him kneeling, turning her eyes to Hikaku. Her face became downright dangerous. 

“Uchiha,” she spat out. “I should have thought our message to your clansmen was clear. Your violent tactics will find no easy pickings here.”

Violent? What?

He was saved from having to answer by Tobirama stepping forward and bowing briefly. 

“My name is Senju Tobirama. It appears there has been a misunderstanding. We are here on a mission of peace, and have no intention of using force.”

“That’s hardly the impression your last ambassador left,” the eldest heiress said, cool and quiet.

Hikaku only then noticed the scorch marks at her feet, the swirls of black characteristic of an Uchiha’s katon, and felt his own face go icy, flat to hide his fury.

This was not a misunderstanding, nor a miscommunication, nor even a misinterpretation. The easy-going, ready to seal deal that Kenichi had reported was clearly nothing more than a pile of falsehoods. And worse, falsehoods designed to endanger one of his own kinsmen and the safety of their new home. 

“Forgive us, Hyuuga-sama,” Hikaku said, dropping to his knees in a desperate bid to display his absolute sincerity. He bowed once, so low his forehead nearly touched the stone pavers and summoned all his eloquence. This moment could make or break them. “The Uchiha have been at war so long that violence has become our native tongue. The Senju are teaching us another language, but some take to it better than others. My kinsmen, Kenichi, is receiving a thorough education on the ways in which his grammar is lacking.”

Or he would be, Hikaku thought, looking up at the Hyuuga’s emotionless faces. Very soon, if Hikaku had anything to say about it. He bowed again, and didn’t rise.

He wasn’t surprised, necessarily, when his companion knelt as well. If there was one thing this trip had taught him, it was that he knew absolutely nothing about the proud Senju next to him.

“Hyuuga-dono, we have been invested with the authority to treat with you as equals. Nothing more. You would honor Konohagakure with merely hearing all we have to offer,” Tobirama said, mirroring Hikaku’s bow.

“And what if we are not impressed by your… offers?” Hanami asked.

Tobirama straightened. Hikaku didn’t, kept his eyes and head lowered respectfully. 

“Then Konohagakure will be the lesser for it, and the Hyuuga may miss their chance to be part of a new, better world. All we ask is that you hear us out with an open mind,” the Senju said.

There was a long pause as Hyuuga Hanami weighed them, her all-seeing eyes a physical weight on Hikaku’s back. 

“Very well. We will hear what you have to say.”

Hikaku straightened briefly and bowed again in sync with Tobirama.

“You have our most humble appreciation, Hyuuga-dono,” said Tobirama for them both.

They stood. Hikaku tried to wipe away the new dirt on his knees, but knew it was a futile effort. 

Hanami looked them up and down, no doubt taking in their ragged appearance.

“You must be tired from your long journey. You will rest, your needs will be cared for, and shall not find our hospitality lacking. Haruhi,” she said, looking over her shoulder at her eldest heiress, “You will see to it.”

“Yes, okaa-sama,” said the young woman with a nod. 

The Hyuuga Head nodded as well, assured her will would be carried out, and turned, her hakama and kimono sleeves fluttering around her with the hushed ruffle of silk on silk. The younger heiress followed in her wake as she strode back into the keep, the giant doors creaking as they closed behind them. The courtyard, which had been silent as the grave, erupted into murmurs as the councillors and elders broke apart into smaller groups to whisper about and stare at their new guests. 

The eldest heiress, Haruhi, walked over to them and stopped with a hand on her hip.

“You two make quite the entrance,” she said, nodding to Asahi as he stood. “I am Hyuuga Haruhi.”

“Senju Tobirama, and this is Uchiha Hikaku,” Tobirama said, nodding to him in time.

“Welcome to the Hyuuga lands. It looks like you were caught in the storms. I’m sure you’ll be wanting a warm bath. Why don’t I take you to the bathhouse first?” she said with a smile.

Oh gods, yes. Hikaku couldn’t think of anything closer to heaven then a hot bath.

“That would be acceptable, Hyuuga-sama,” Tobirama said politely with a bow. 

Haruhi waved him off with a nonchalant hand.

“Just Haruhi will be fine. Cousin Asahi,” she turned to the other man, “Will you have Yui prepare some rooms for them in the lower bailey?”

“Of course, Haruhi-sama,” the older man said with a bow, and left.

“So,” she said, tilting her head with a smile, “Follow me.”

-

The last several days had been interesting, if ‘interesting’ had become a synonym for fucking hellish at some point in the recent past. 

Apparently, Hikaku had taken off on a mission in wake of their screaming match. The Uchiha Clan Head wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or furious. So, naturally, he was furious. Especially, once he’d confronted Tsubame about _her_ mission.

She’d opened the door, smiled blithely at him, and said, “I’m sick,” before giving the most unconvincing cough Madara had ever heard, and closing her door in his face. 

He didn’t even have time to get out his full-flaming rant before the Elder he’d been dodging spotted him and he was fucking _doomed_.

He spent an hour being dragged around by the shirt sleeve (and only because she was too short to grab his ear) telling him all of her many woes.

Three days. Three entire days without a moment’s peace. Not. _One_.

At this point, he wasn’t sure if he was going to strangle Hikaku when he returned or beg him to never leave again. Probably beg, but the day was still young. 

This was unbearable. 

And Aunt Minaka was _still_ talking. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t know that running the Uchiha was this much work. He’d known that, of course he did. He just- 

He’d never had to do it alone before. And just now it felt like the ground was yawning beneath him, threatening to swallow him down at the slightest misstep. 

Sometimes, he wished it would. 

He just wanted a minute to breathe. 

There were a thousand things vying for his attention, a hundred different people waiting to talk to him, impatient that he hadn’t heard their complaints earlier, wondering where Hikaku was, relieved Madara was going to be taking a more active role again, and on, and on, and _on_. 

There was so much and it all felt _petty_.

Didn’t they understand he had a village to build? 

The war was over, why couldn’t everyone just be grateful for the peace and shut up? What difference did it make if the Uchiha got more guard duty rotations than the rest of the village, or that the Inuzuka dogs kept the households on the west side of the compound awake, or that the charcoal supply for the forges was a few bundles short, or that Cousin Asui was insulted by the way Riko had turned down his marriage proposal loudly and in front of everyone, or _any_ of it?

Didn't people have anything better to do than bitch at him?

What he wouldn’t give for a moment of quiet? To be left blessedly alone? 

He knew Hikaku had been right; he had been resting long enough (it was half the reason everything was so overwhelming, but that didn’t make it less overwhelming), but everything felt so pointless. 

He felt like he was drowning.

“Madara-sama?”

Blinking back to himself, Madara was surprised to find himself in the courtyard of Minaka’s home, staring at the sky, the older woman nowhere to be found. The sun was… not where it should be? How long had he been here?

“Madara.”

The voice came again, and he looked over, saw Elder Sanada standing there expectantly, but it was like he wasn’t really there, like he was still far away, buzzing, rushing in his ears, as if none of this was real. 

He couldn’t focus.

He didn’t know how long it took to crash back into himself, but it was _sickening_. Nauseating. A cold and clammy sweat broke out across his skin as his heart pounded with the realization that he had been fully absent from himself, just standing here, for who knows how long.

He swallowed down the sharp stab of fear, didn’t let it show. Reached instead for anger. It was comfortingly close.

“What?” he snapped.

Elder Sanada didn’t flinch. He never did. The old man had too much scar tissue for that, half his face and a _sharingan_ eye lost to a _katon_ blown back at him. Madara didn’t know if it was his disfigurement or the lifetime of war that had left the elder as solid as stone.

He supposed it didn’t matter in the end.

“The Uchiha missions haven’t been distributed,” Sanada said, slow and measured. 

“... What?”

Elder Sanada didn’t sigh like Hikaku did, but just restated, “The Uchiha’s share of the Village missions. You have yet to dispense them.” 

At Madara’s blank stare, he continued, “Hikaku-san collects them from the Hokage Tower every morning and assigns them to the proper shinobi.”

Madara blinked. Oh. That made sense.

Somehow, the lack of judgement when Elder Sanada offered, “Would you like me to find someone to fetch them?” was absolutely humiliating. 

“Don’t bother,” Madara decided. “I’ll get them.”

Elder Sanada didn’t comment on his lapse, or his decision. Just let him go with a nod. Madara fled before Minaka got back from wherever she’d been hiding. 

Maybe it was the murderous look on his face, or the clear purpose in his steps, but no one bothered him on his way out of the compound.

He honestly didn’t notice how much quieter the village was than normal as he passed construction site after construction site without workers, water mains that should be being laid, power lines and poles that should be being installed, the constant pound of hammers and nails that should be punctuating the late morning. It wasn’t silent, but the cacophony was just not there. 

The Hokage’s Tower was another story. 

If ever there was chaos incarnate, it was the fifteen-hundred square meters that made up the village headquarters. It was enough to shake the haze that had hovered over him for days off some. It was habit. Rote, required by the history of his life.

Because this was battlefield if he’d ever seen one. 

People were _running_. Actually running. Papers were flying, people were shouting.

Someone Madara didn’t recognize actually almost _ran into him_.

Him. Uchiha Madara. The young man seemed to realize what was about to happen and decided to just sit down instead, skidding across the floor to a halt at Madara’s feet. 

They blinked at each other a moment, before the stranger cursed, and half crawled around him in his haste to get up and out the door Madara had just entered. 

What in the hell?

He made his way through the chaos. No one else nearly collided with him, but rather staring and stuttering his name or summarily ignoring him in deference to their apparently very busy day, so he made it to the main desk easily enough. There, the manager for the mission desk was attempting to direct traffic, passing off assignments and orders with varied degrees of success, but was therefore, nonetheless, the best person to tell him what the fuck was going on.

“What is going on?” he asked, and the mission desk manager looked over at him, wide-eyed, as if Madara was, by the very facet of being someone else who needed his attention, the floor manager’s worst nightmare. 

“Oh! The Uchiha missions. Right,” and then he started flipping through the piles of scrolls and papers haphazardly thrown on the desk as if what he needed could somehow be summoned to the top of the mess if he just looked for it frantically enough. ”I know they’re here somewhere, I just-”

With every muttered excuse and terrified glance and second, minute, wasted without the man even pausing and the chaos around him, the shouting and screaming and running intensifying as though it had never paused-!

“Enough!” Madara snapped, eyes spinning, chakra spiking. 

It was not really surprising, therefore, that the whole floor paused at his outburst and the killer intent that came with it. 

Patience had never been his strong suit, and recent events had proven that more than true. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath before he continued.

“What is going on here?” he demanded again.

The other man took a breath to no doubt continue his ramble, but Madara put up a hand to stall him. 

The man gulped, a frightened rabbit before a wolf, and wisely did not speak before Madara clarified, “From the beginning.”

“Uhm, well, usually the mission distribution is handled out of the Hokage’s office, but- well- with Tobirama gone they were busy and so they passed it off to us and usually that would be okay but the marching orders didn’t come and I don’t know the numbers or clan sizes or skills or how to separate all of these and I just keep getting told to deal with it but I have no idea what-”

Honestly, Madara had stopped listening as soon as the other man had said Tobirama’s name. 

He should have _known_ letting the bastard leave was a bad idea. Hashirama had _asked_ him whether or not he should send the younger Senju, and, like an idiot, Madara hadn’t seen this coming as a result of his agreement. 

The fact that no one else had seen it coming either was little consolation.

The man then moved on to some of what the missions he’d been trying to sort through entailed. The silent construction projects he’d passed, the lack of anyone doing _anything_ whatsoever beyond running around like a bunch of morons and the oddly unsettled feeling he’d had as he’d walked over suddenly made an alarming amount of sense.

And it pissed him off. 

Madara _knew_ how busy Tobirama was, how many dozens of projects he’d become involved in across the village. He’d been forcefully acquainted with that fact when he'd spent an entire day trying to keep up with the cursed man. He’d even become acquainted with Tobirama’s issues in trying to organize the disperate clan shinobi into a coherent ranking system. He’d spent every free moment of the last three days trying to untangle the mess, but he had no idea it was tied into the very construction projects and distribution of labor... 

That meant he had to start over, again. 

He was going to tear his hair out in frustration at this point. He snarled. 

The man shut up. 

Equally foolish, he was realizing, was the assumption that Tobirama’s involvement with these projects meant that he was advising on them. Not that he was solely responsible for all progress being done at all. Because only an idiot would personally assign and monitor all of those many, intricate and vitally important projects. Surely, anyone with sense would delegate to other shinobi the minutiae of those projects, like dispersing the manpower? 

Evidently not. 

And somehow, in their infinite wisdom, he and Hashirama had, by sending out a single shinobi, halted the entire village. Without noticing. 

The man had only been gone three days, and already it was chaos incarnate. 

What a mess. 

Still, none of that was any excuse for the behavior he’d witnessed on arriving. 

"First,” Madara snarled at the still captivated room. “You will all calm down." His spinning eyes hopefully conveyed the gravity of the situation. "This is a shinobi headquarters, not a circus. Get your people in order and start sorting the missions by type. One pile for construction, separated by field, one for defense and patrolling, one for client missions. Make new piles as needed. I'll be back in fifteen minutes. You’d better have something cohesive for me to look at by then."

He stomped away, ignoring the man's sputtering affirmative.

If there was one place to get actual answers about what the fuck was happening, it was at the center.

Unfortunately, it seemed like half the Village had had the same revelation. Not only that, but they had beaten him here.

Half the Clan Heads, a half dozen foriegn emissaries and several shinobi battles for space with an army of admins, none of which seemed like they had any idea what they were doing, crowded the door to Hashirama’s office. And that was just the receiving room. 

Mitari, Hashirama's aid, was acting as both a guard and harried traffic director, fielding off the indignant peanut gallery with none of his usual calm.

Madara summarily ignored him, ignored everyone as he stormed past the crowd into Hashirama’s office, equally ignoring Mitari’s protests in his wake.

“- no reason why _I_ should have to bear the brunt of your brother’s-” 

“As I understand,” Hashirama interrupted the Senju elder he was apparently arguing with, “the organization of the Council Meeting schedule has only ever been assigned to you.”

Madara only vaguely recognized the voice as belonging to one of Hashirama’s least favorite elders, Hagino-something, not someone either of them had much call to interact with too often, thank the gods. 

“Well, if your brother had been content to mind his own business-”

But Hashirama, looking more irate than Madara had ever seen him, cut the old man off. 

“You think my brother has nothing better to do than babysit you, an Elder of our Clan, thrice his age?” 

Madara wasn’t able to see the man’s face, but he could tell from his posture that it was likely turning the shade of a tomato as Hashirama continued to rake him over the coals. 

This side of Hashirama was rare to see and terrifying to behold. Madara settled in to watch.

“Tobirama has more than enough on his plate, and he cannot be held accountable for you not pulling your weight,” said Hashirama, glaring at the man who did not have the shame to cower before him.

“That is not, I was more than capable, if _he_ hadn’t been so, so-” the elder tried to protest.

But Hashirama had evidently had enough of the excuses. 

“Enough!” the Hokage said and stood, “Tobirama would not have intervened if he felt you were doing _your_ job properly. You have two weeks minimum until he returns to prove him wrong, _and_ because you are so confident in your abilities, I trust you will have no problem doing so!” he continued even over the elder’s attempted interruptions, shouting to do so.

Whatever response the other man thought he could answer with was cut off by Mitari peeking his head in the door. The man glanced nervously at _all_ of the inhabitants, Madara and his usually very calm boss included.

“Hokage-sama, Taka’s sent word. She can’t seem to find-”

“Yes. Fine. I’ll take care of it,” Hashirama said.

Mitari nodded and ducked back out.

Hashirama turned back to the still fuming elder, voice as biting as Uchiha steel as he said, “I trust we understand each other, Elder Haginosuke?” 

It wasn’t often that it was easy to remember that Hashirama was one of the deadliest shinobi in the world, but his tone of voice left no doubt. Madara was a little impressed and unsurprised when the elder swallowed and bowed. 

He left without another word or sparing Madara even the slightest glance.

“Busy day?” the Uchiha asked in an attempt to tease his friend with the obvious, though it didn’t land as intended. 

Hashirama actually glared at him as he stormed past, his Hokage robes fluttering around him as he left his office and equally left Madara with no option but to follow. 

The crowded foyer parted in his wake, falling silent as their esteemed leader, the man they were all, apparently waiting to see, walked passed them all without a word, Uchiha Madara following behind.

Said Uchiha was somehow incredibly unsurprised when he realized where they were headed. 

Tobirama’s office was, for once, just as crowded as Hashirama’s.

One of Madara’s own elders, Uchiha Gorou was one of many loitering, and he bowed as Madara came over to ask what the hell he was doing here.

“Tobirama-sama has been assisting with the agricultural projects.”

Madara nodded. He was aware of the project. Neither he nor Hashirama had been comfortable with the entirety of their food supply being imported, and thus, had set their people to coming up with solutions, with Uchiha Gorou at the head. Not Tobirama.

“Why?” Madara asked, but he was only half listening, much less watching Gorou’s face to see his evident confusion.

Instead, he was watching Hashirama as the Hokage walked past the desk of Tobirama's useless secretary and through the open door to Tobirama's actual workspace. It was also full of people, but they all stopped what they were doing at his entrance

Taka, who was not looking at all like her usual put-together self. Her dark hair was frazzled from its bun, her makeup beginning to run in the sheen of sweat on her forehead. She startled from her rummaging through one of the filing cabinets in Tobirama's office to cry, “Hokage-sama! I'm sorry, I know it's in here somewhere-!”

Hashirama silenced her with a look.

Instead of answering, he went straight to his brother's desk, opened the second drawer, and pulled out a pair of scrolls, tied together deliberately. Even from the other room, Madara’s sharp eyes could see the word “Delegations” in Tobirama’s neat strokes. Saw the way that Hashirama’s flat, unimpressed eye’s found Taka again.

“You’re useless,” he said, “Go home.”

“Wh-Hokage-sama,” she protested. It looked like she might cry.

“Tobirama’s kept his office organized the same way since we were children. If you don’t know this yet, then you might as well not even be here.”

He didn’t have anything else to say to the now simpering girl, just stormed out, back out of the office, back towards his own. 

Madara spared his clansmen his own speaking look that informed Gorou he would find him later to discuss _why_ exactly, he had been here, before he shadowed Hashirama out of the room.

“What do you want Madara?” Hashirama asked, and Madara would have been offended by the tone in any other situation. Right now though, it was clear that Hashirama was firmly in crisis mode. That understanding put Madara immediately in the same mood.

This was no time for frivolity.

“I came for the Uchiha missions, but the mission desk is in as poor a shape as the rest of the building.”

Hashirama sighed. Hard.

“Trickle down effect, I suppose,” the Hokage mused.

“I’ll take care of it,” Madara heard himself say.

It actually made Hashirama stop walking, turn and look at Madara full on.

There was no smile, nothing joking or possessing the affability that usually flowed from Hashirama like sunlight to be found. 

For months, since Izuna had died really, Madara had quietly, privately, wondered at his own ability to go on, to continue forward. Months of endless spinning, nothingness, the weight of ages and pain on his shoulders, crushing his lungs had left him listless, even as he tried, perhaps too successfully, to convince himself that he was fine. That he could handle this.

It had taken Hikaku’s outburst to enlighten him to the fact that the facade of his capability was so clearly cracked. Tobirama had tried to tell him, had tried to show him. It should have been obvious. 

But it wasn’t. Not really. Not until Hashirama was staring at him with such clear _doubt_ in his eyes.

Madara’s track record over the last many months left him no real room to be offended, but he was anyway.

“You think I can’t handle it?” he accused, brash like fire.

Hashirama’s eyes gentling quelled him.

“You don’t have to. I can handle it. I understand if you still need time.”

Hashirama had been _handling_ it for too long as it was. 

But if there was one thing Madara was still, after all these years, good at, one dance where he felt like he couldn’t misstep even if he wanted to, it was sparring with Hashirama.

“Because you’ve been handling it so well,” Madara said, letting the smirk filter into his voice. 

Hashirama blinked. Looked surprised, then relieved.

“Hang on-” he tried to interrupt, a familiar smile wanting to tug at his lips, tried to initiate what would no doubt fall into a script, a dance routine they had been rehearsing since they were small, on the banks of a river, with no idea that their life would lead them here.

But alas, now was not the time. They had work to do

“Besides,” Madara cut him off. “Tobirama already took considerable time explaining how it has been functioning for the shinobi ranking project. I can handle it.”

Hashirama’s face stilled, and he appeared to weigh each of his next words carefully as he said them.

“Considerable time with Tobirama? But-”

Oh. _Oh_.

Hashirama didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t appear to know how too, didn’t say what had caused his brow to wrinkle, the familiar lines of frustration to carve into his face, but he didn’t have to. Madara knew anyway.

Tobirama had told him.

_“Hashirama thought that, in light of your bereavement, it would be best if I did not antagonize you with my presence.”_

The memory of it filled him with something akin to shame. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Hashirama would have taken issue with Tobirama even talking to him until just now. There had been so much to do, so much to think over, but it took being here, in this hallway where his and Tobirama’s first, real _conversation_ had taken place to remember _why_ Hashirama had seemed concerned. Still seemed concerned.

It wasn’t fair. Either Hashirama’s behavior or his own.

After all of his and Tobirama’s… encounters, he could clearly, easily see that Tobirama had been right that night, in this very hallway. Just a few meters ahead of where he and Hashirama stood now, the cracks in the plaster, still unrepaired after the months since he'd left it there, full of rage stood testament to that truth. He had indeed endeavored, incredibly unfairly, to make Tobirama’s life more difficult, was the one doing the antagonizing, and then the insisting, even if, even with-

Izuna’s ghost would always haunt him, but- Izuna had died doing his _duty_. Tobirama had done _his_ duty. 

It was time that Madara start doing his own

“It’s okay,” Madara went quickly to placate Hashirama, “I came to him. It’s time I do my part.”

Hashirama’s mouth twisted, showing Madara that his old friend clearly knew that Madara knew what he had tried to do. Tried, successfully, to keep Tobirama from doing. 

“Madara, I-”

It didn’t matter.

“I know you were trying to help. I know. But it’s _time_.”

He met his old friend’s eye, didn’t let the pity he thought he might see buried under the sheer _hope_ dissuade him.

“It’s time.”

Finally, Hashirama smiled back, his full grin like a sunrise.

“Alright then. I’ll leave it to you.”

-

The Hyuuga attendants had taken their clothes to be laundered and supplied them with fresh clothes of soft linen. The bath had been heavenly. Tobirama hadn’t registered the myriad of cuts and aching muscles until the hot water had made them sing. 

He and Hikaku hadn’t bothered to speak for the entirety of the experience, both too weary. He thought the Uchiha had nearly fallen asleep, but he got out at the same time as Tobirama. They found the Hyuuga heiress and Asahi waiting for them. The two made an odd pair, Haruhi leaning against the wall with her arms crossed while her much older second-cousin stood aside, arms behind his back and posture ruler straight and face severe to her quiet grin.

She turned to them and asked, “All finished?”

Tobirama nodded.

“Good. Okaa-sama and the council would like to hear your proposition as soon as possible. Don’t worry. They won’t keep you long.”

She turned and led them back up toward the main keep, Asahi a step behind her.

Tobirama supposed it would be better to get this over with sooner rather than later, but he wished they had a bit more time to rest. His thoughts weren’t marshaling as quickly as usual, no doubt due to the lack of sleep and lull of the hot steam. He would have to focus, more so than usual. A misstep now could alienate the Hyuuga forever.

Especially in the face of this latest bout of sabotage. He understood now that it had been irresponsible that he hadn’t insisted on the Hokage taking action on the sabotage against him before now, but it had seemed to be focused on him alone, and he had been confident that he could handle it alone. That Hashirama’s interference would have only proved counter-productive.

But this latest effort threatened not just Tobirama’s wellbeing, but his mission partner and the village itself as well. 

He was aware just how easily the confrontation with the Hyuuga could have ended in bloodshed, especially as it became clear just how close tensions were to boiling over after the last sabotaged visit. 

It was undoubtedly a deliberate oversight to omit such overt hostility from the official report he’d read to prepare for the meeting. 

It seemed odd, however, that Uchiha Kenichi hadn’t just put Tobirama in danger, but Hikaku as well. 

This was likely not the Uchiha’s intended outcome. Perhaps Uchiha Tsubame, who had originally been slated for his partner, was in on the plan and had fully intended to not accompany him, as so many Uchiha had done before. It would have left him to face the angered Hyuuga alone. Perhaps Hikaku offering to take her position was unforeseen?

After so much opportunity, he found it unlikely that Hikaku was still waiting to ambush him, and, after experiencing his equal surprise, felt safe to discount him from whatever scheme Uchiha Kenichi had planned. 

He sighed. Perhaps he was thinking too much about this. After all, only Hashirama and Madara were responsible for assigning mission partners. No one else would be privy to the information before the team was sent out. It was equally likely that Kenichi hadn’t known or cared who else would have been endangered, so long as Tobirama took the fall for it.

But Hikaku was the Uchiha’s heir presumptive. 

He was also, by everyone’s estimation, the only thing still holding the Uchiha together in the face of Madara’s proceedingly evident decline. 

Frustratingly, Hikaku hadn’t run in the face of danger. He was apparently ready to face death at Tobirama’s side. 

And while he appreciated the effort (more than he was willing to admit to himself), if Tobirama returned without Hikaku alive and well, it might very well cost Tobirama his life anyway.

Another worry to add to the long list, and they weren’t out of the woods yet.

The doors to the keep opened for them as they approached. They climbed one exquisitely carved staircase, following Haruhi as she led them through the maze that was the keep. 

The room the young Hyuuga led them to was just off one of the outer hallways. The darkness of the room took some adjusting to in the wake of the brightness of the hall. Once his eyesight had adjusted, Tobirama took a moment to appreciate the room as he was certainly meant to. 

The _shoji_ wall panels were exquisitely decorated with images of mountains peeking through the clouds, not atypical for a room of this kind, but the detail emphasized the wealth of the Hyugga Clan. The dark wood cross-beams led the eye up to a richly decorated ceiling, deep blue dotted with large stars in a natural grid. He caught sight of the Hyuuga's fan crest intermingled with the stars and a couple of intricately weaved seals, for privacy if Tobirama wasn't mistaken.

All around the edge of the room, ordered in what looked to be careful seniority, the Hyuuga Council of Elders sat in silent, watchful judgement. 

The _tatami_ mats at their feet had been cleaned recently. The low table at the center of the room was large enough for the four of them to sit at, with plush cushions to make sitting more comfortable. Another Hyuuga with the strange seal on her forehead laid tea on the table as soon as the Clan Head was seated, her heirs slightly back from the table on either of her flanks. Tobirama glanced at Hikaku and then took the prominent seat directly opposite the Clan Head, allowing Hikaku to take the mirroring seat to the heir on his right flank.

They waited for the Clan Head to make the first move. 

She looked to Hikaku.

“Who are you?” she asked plainly.

Hikaku bowed.

“I am Uchiha Hikaku.”

“Hikaku?” she asked, clearly recognizing the name. It seemed Tobirama wasn’t the only one whose reputation preceded them. Turning her sharp eyes to Tobirama, she said, “Hashirama and Madara have sent their very best then.” 

It didn’t sound like a compliment. 

Tobirama didn’t mention that Hikaku was not supposed to be there with him, instead nodded and said, “More importantly, as their heirs presumptive, we have the authority to barter on behalf of not only our respective clans, but the village they have created as a whole.”

She nodded, inscrutable, before she began speaking. “So, Senju-dono, why should the Hyuuga join this Konohagakure, when the Uchiha, who have slaughtered our clansmen for generations, are its foundation?”

Tobirama tilted his head. “The Uchiha have killed far more Senju than Hyuuga, Hyuuga-dono. And yet we have chosen to set aside old grudges in order to better preserve what we have left. Are you not tired of fighting over those who are already dead?”

The hum of anger he could feel was entirely expected. It was always hard to let go of grudges that were well-nursed, and sometimes harder to acknowledge the necessity of such things. 

“Not all of us are so trusting, Senju-dono,” Hanaimi continued. “Who is to say the Uchiha won’t stab us in the back?”

Tobirama held a hand out to stop Hikaku from speaking unwisely at the blatant offense. “The Uchiha are honorable, and fiercely loyal to their allies. They do not lightly go back on their word.” 

She turned her white glare back to him from where it had rested on Hikaku, daring him almost to act on his outrage. Hikaku saw it too, and settled, keeping his peace even as his hands fisted on his knees. “You speak highly of your enemies, Senju-dono.”

“There are no enemies here, Hyuuga-dono. Only two allies trying to prove the rationality behind combining our forces. Together, the Senju and the Uchiha are building a village founded on peace. Once the village is founded properly, all who are citizens will enjoy the full protection of every shinobi clan who has joined it. Already, over two dozen clans of every skill and size have joined us in our efforts to build a better world, and have received, in return, fair and equal treatment, and the _protection_ that such an alliance provides.”

There was no implied threat in his words. There didn’t need to be. There was, however, a promise that the Hyuuga would be treated as an equal partner. He trusted the Hyuuga matriarch was intelligent enough to read between the lines.

“To that end, we have had news from the other major countries. In response to Konohagakure’s founding, other shinobi villages are forming in the Great Countries. If we of the Land of Fire do not unite as they are, we will surely fall. We ask that you set aside your revenge, your prejudice, and help us build a brighter future for the next generation.”

He’d laid out all the relevant pieces he could think of to the best of his ability. Now, it was her move. 

After a long pause, she replied, voice measured and careful. “You believe that this village system you have formed will be the answer, but what if this experiment fails? What happens when the past becomes too much to bear and the fighting reignites, as it has for centuries? How will the Hyuuga survive, having allowed themselves to be surrounded by enemies they _thought_ friends.”

Tobirama thought over his answer just as carefully before giving it. “How many clans have faced oblivion alone? Have witnessed the last of their descendants standing in front of nothing but the shrine to their dead? This endless war has seen families rise and fall in their turn. If nothing changes, then soon there will be nothing left worth fighting for.”

He looked her dead in the eye, hammering the point. “The wars must cease. If this method fails, then we will try another. And another. But we must try something. As it is, the persistent hatred and violence between clans is-” he reached for a word that would adequately express the futility of their current path. 

“Untenable,” she finished for him.

Tobirama nodded. “Just so.”

They all waited, on bated breath for her decision. The Hyuuga Head didn’t give even the smallest hint as to which way her thoughts went. 

She stood, and the others at the table did the same, including Hikaku and Tobirama.

“Very well,” she finally said. “I will discuss your proposal to our Council of Elders. Until then, you will make yourself available for further enquiry as you enjoy our hospitality.”

He and Hikaku both bowed as Tobirama agreed, “We are at your disposal, Hyuuga-dono.”

She nodded, and after laying a hand on Haruhi’s shoulder beside her, left the room, the Hyuuga attendants following after her. Tobirama and Hikaku found themselves once again alone with their guide. 

“Nicely done,” said Haruhi, smiling serenely at them. Again. After the prolonged exposure to her mother’s stony face made the contrast all the stronger. “Okaa-sama likes you.”

Tobirama would have to take her word for it.

-

“-in a shambles! If your brother were here, he would never have-”

Omura was lecturing him again, his nasal tone grating on Hashirama’s ears. Not for the first time, he wished he could just throw the other man out. The day, days, had been long enough as it was, without the second most senior member of his Council of Elders feeling the need to come and tell him all the ways he already knew he was _failing_ .

The past days since Tobirama’s departure had demonstrated them quite well already. 

“-you should have taken proper steps to prepare for Tobirama’s absence. If he had been given proper time to prepare, he would never have-”

He knew, he _knew_ that Tobirama had been doing more than his part, but it wasn't’ like Hashirama had been stagnant, resting on his laurels. There was more than enough work to go around. 

But he hadn’t thought that _this_ would be the result of Tobirama leaving. It wasn’t like he hadn’t left before, and before it had never amounted to the mayhem they had all experienced over the last three days.

Perhaps, it was because it was clear that Tobirama would not be coming back any time soon. For all that the literal hundreds of _other_ people supposedly working on projects that Tobirama had involved himself in, and the number of them who loved to send Hashirama complaint after complaint about his little brother’s conduct, _none_ of them seemed capable of even functioning in his wake, Hashirama’s own office included.

He hadn’t known, hadn’t realized that even people on his _own_ staff had been passing assignments he’d given them off to Tobirama, and had done so often enough that they seemed to have forgotten how to do their own jobs. 

Worse, was the fact that, for all that he saw Tobirama nearly _every day_, his brother never saw fit to tell him. Didn’t clue him in _at all_ to the ways in which everything would fall apart if Hashirama needed to send him out of the village for an extended period. Gave no hint whatsoever. Just nodded blithely and went on his way, leaving the entire village, leaving Hashirama and the entire village to flounder with no warning, no system in place to mitigate his absence. 

It was entirely unlike his brother not to be prepared for every eventuality. Hashirama attributed it entirely to how completely overworked Tobirama had become. 

Hashirama really, really didn’t want to blame anybody for this mess. Anybody but himself. But honestly, the more he had to hear of Omura’s nasally voice telling him how much of a better job Tobirama would do, the more frustrated he felt. 

Since when was Tobirama the darling of the elders? 

(Since Hashirama had chosen peace, something he and the elders both knew Tobirama would never have done had _he_ been the Clan Head and Hashirama the spare.)

Hashriama didn’t really know what to do about it either. It was impossible to please everyone, he knew that, but he also knew that the elders held an immense amount of influence not only over the rest of the Senju Clan, but also the elders from the other clans, and through them, the entire village. Therefore, despite his burning urge, and building headache, he couldn’t just tell them (Omura in particular) to fuck off. 

Instead, he kept his eyes on his desk, working to whittle down the mountain of paperwork that never seemed to decrease, nodding vaguely whenever Omura paused for breath, not that he needed any encouragement to continue.

“-which _Tobirama_ managed to keep in line for _months_ now. If we cannot-”

“Tobirama is the _cause_ of this chaos.”

Hashirama nearly sighed aloud in relief.

“Uncle Mutsuhito,” he greeted the severe newcomer with a smile as he stood. 

Mutsuhito wasn’t really his uncle, but he had been Hashirama’s father’s best friend, and had always, _always_ been like an uncle to him. Strong, supportive, steadfast. 

He looked it, too. Their family’s noble, dark features, under a face scared from the battle where he had saved Butsuma’s life years before the cancer had taken his sire. But he was calm, grounded, in a way that Hashirama’s actual father struggled to be. 

Most recently, he had become Hashiramam’s savior, a voice that spoke up in defense of Hashirama’s reasonable decisions everywhere from council meetings to the capital.

Omura looked like he swallowed a lemon as he turned to Mutsuhito. “Please,” Omura retorted. “Tobirama has been the pillar of this village since its founding!” 

“Hashirama-sama is the village's founder. It would not exist without him.” 

Omura tried to interrupt. “He-”

Mutsuhito didn’t even blink as he stared him down, continuing, “And Tobirama has done nothing but jeopardize his honored elder brother’s vision since the beginning.”

“Nonsense! Tobirama is a loyal son of the Senju and you insult him with your insinuations!”

“I say nothing that is not _truth_,” Mutsuhito said, hands clasped behind his back.

Omura went from insulted to vicious. “Your _version_ of the truth is confirmed by your own bias against Tobirama.”

“Ha! As if-”

“Elders, please,” Hashirama said, standing to step between the venerated men verbally sparring in the middle of his office. “Please.”

The two men, enemies, opposite sides of the spectrum for as long as anyone could remember, clearly debated simply ignoring him, but Mutsuhito could always be counted on to do as Hashirama asked. 

“Hokage-sama,” he submitted as he bowed to Hashirama.

Omura huffed but did the same. The level of insubordination implied in not _also_ capitulating would have been too much for even Hashirama to ignore. 

That didn’t mean the man had to stand for it, though. And he didn’t, leaving in a huff as soon as he straightened.

Good riddance.

“A nuisance, as always,” Mutsuhito commented as the door closed.

Hashirama sighed, thumbing the bridge of his nose to try and quell the headache brewing there. “He means well.”

“He believes he does perhaps, but you must face reality,” Mutsuhito said, reason itself. “At the very least, your bother’s behavior is deepening divides rather than mending them.”

“I know.”

Hashirama rubbed the back of his neck, cramped and aching after an incredibly long day. Each seemed endless now, there was so much to do. 

He looked out the window. It was his favorite part of his entire office. The view was at once familiar and not. The valley he’d looked over since childhood, the skyline he had studied and seen beyond was changing before his eyes, and now, with the sun long since set, it was lit up with the lights his brother had brought about. 

His genius, hardworking brother.

Mutsuhito laid a warm hand on Hashirama’s shoulder. 

“You need to rest, nephew,” said Mutsuhito. “You look exhausted.”

“I feel exhausted,” Hashirama admitted, but he knew he could not rest. “I just-”

There was so much, too much lately. He had been drowning for so long he felt like his strength might give out under the weight of it all.

Tobirama was his brother.

“He’s my brother,” was all Hashirama could say.

“I know,” Mutsuhito said, no judgment in his eyes. “And you have done more than right by him. For now, you must take care of yourself.”

Hashirama drummed up a smile for his favorite uncle. “You worry too much. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will,” Mutsuhito said. “But you needn't do this all on your own. There are others to support you.”

“I know. It’s-.” He paused to martial his thoughts and only found the same one circling that had been ringing in his ears since Omura really got going. “He’s my brother and my responsibility. I should be able to handle him.”

It was unfair. There shouldn’t be anything to handle. He didn’t understand why it was so hard to just talk to Tobirama. His brother was like a vault. Hashirama had never had a key, but recently it was so, so much worse. And moreso, it felt like every time they spoke, Tobirama was _lying_ to him. He couldn’t tell about what exactly, but it was in the line of his shoulders and in things he didn’t say, and he didn’t know _why_.

What had he done to lose his only brother’s trust? 

“Tobirama will be as he is. There is only so much you can be expected to do,” his uncle said firmly.

“You’re right,” Hashirama agreed with a sigh, setting the problem aside once more. He turned and smiled at the elder. “Thank you, uncle.”

Mutsuhito didn’t smile back, he never did, but the look in his eye gentled so Hashirama could read the satisfaction there. The elder gave Hashirama’s shoulder a firm squeeze before he let it go.

“In the meantime,” Mutsuhito said, “Go home. It is late.”

He was right. It was well past midnight, the fourth day in a row that Hashirama had been in this room this late. Early. It’s all the same.

“You first,” Hashirama said back.

“Ha!” Mutsuhito laughed. “Of course, nephew. I bid you goodnight.”

The Elder bowed once more, before he headed back towards the door. 

“If you would like,” he said, turning as he opened the door. “I can speak to your brother for you.”

It was tempting. More so than it should have been, but still…

No. Not yet.

“Thank you, uncle. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Mutsuhito gave him one more grave nod before he left Hashirama to another long night.

-

The rooms the Hyuuga had given them for their stay were comfortable, if small. Their home functioned more as a military building than any form of stately home, so space was expectedly limited. They, as guests, had one room for sitting, eating, and receiving guests, and a small bedroom to share. There was also a small bathroom down the hall that all of the visitors quarters shared. 

Hikaku turned out to be an admirable roommate. He spent most of their days with the Hyuuga either resting or haunting Tobirama’s steps as they went from their rooms, to meeting with Hanami, back to their rooms, to meet with the Hyuuga council, back to their rooms, and so on. 

More, Hikaku gave off none of the latent aggression that hung around the more opposed Hyuuga and much of Konohagakure’s citizens in Tobirama’s presence. 

If Tobirama were one to gamble, he would say that the meetings had been going well. The Hyuuga were slowly coming around to the idea of joining Konohagakure, if Tobirama’s read was accurate, empathetic or otherwise, and he had no reason to doubt it was not so. 

He had never truly explored the possible empathic elements of his sensory abilities until he’d begun caring for Izuna. The hyper awareness needed to understand the needs and wants of an otherwise uncommunicative patient had demanded he pick up fluxuations of emotion that he would have ignored before. 

This trip was proving the ability’s incredible usefulness, for all it was initially unconsciously cultivated. The Hyuuga gave nothing away outwardly, and it was all he could do upon their first arrival to sift through the waves of negative emotions to find the individuals they represented, nevermind the subtler emotions like reflection or introspection, or even optimism. 

The lack of hostility had actually led to him having his first full night’s sleep since the mission began. 

So, Tobirama felt comfortable enough to let his guard down to get some work done, if only the paperwork he’d brought with him pertaining to his duties in the village rather than his personal projects.

Tobirama mostly set up shop at the table in the main room, while Hikaku had recovered from their trek across the mountain in the sleeping room. The Hyuuga heiress had given the Uchiha a book of Hyuuga poetry at some point, and he had spent an entire afternoon on his futon, recovering his chakra.

Tobirama didn’t have time for such indulgence. His projects for the village could not be left unattended even without his physical presence. He had done as much as he could in the lead up to his departure to ensure that things would continue to run smoothly, but given his recent communication ‘errors’, he suspected that such measures would prove unsuccessful. In anycase, all he could do was plan for his return as best he could

Time spent planning had become a luxury in itself, and he would indulge in it as much as Hikaku indulged in his poetry.

Which meant he was already working before dawn on their third day with the Hyuuga.

He pulled a full topographical map of Konohagakure from his storage book. Next he pulled out the scrolls where he kept his notes on the rerouted river waterway constructions and how they would interact with the below ground water-mains and sewage. He had already ordered the laying of water lines and power to where he intended for the Hyuuga to settle, in what had turned out to be the misguided belief that their joining was a given. Still, things were going well, better than their start would have indicated. He was right; Hanami was intelligent and reasonable. There was hope, so he continued his work. 

He had marked on the map the construct  
ions that should be completed by the time they made it back to the village, and was comparing notes with the existing roads and power infrastructure plans, as well as resource allocations and budgets. He had a new scroll in front of him to keep track of his calculations.

“What are you working on?” Hikaku asked from the doorway.

Tobirama looked up. The other man looked rumpled as he leaned against the open door frame, his hair down in deference to the dawn that had only just broken, but otherwise ready for the day.

“Village infrastructure,” he said dismissively. He fully expected Hikaku to nod and then go about whatever else the other man did all day rather than willingly spend time with him. Instead, the Uchiha came and sat opposite Tobirama at the low table.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing for one of Tobirama’s scrolls, specifically the one Tobirama had marked ‘roads’. 

Tobirama nodded, watching as the Uchiha took and opened it before going back to his calculations, determined to ignore the other man for now. For all that he was feeling more rested, that was more a matter of perspective. He had been at this for hours, and doing equations by lamplight was giving him a headache. Soon, the sun would rise and it would be easier. But for now, he just wanted to get as much done as possible before Hanami summoned him for the day.

Hikaku took another scroll, and then another, before he asked, “What’s this about a bridge builder?”

“Ah. Hashirama has set Touka to recruiting one from among the Uzumaki. I can only estimate their expense in compensation and resources, but they will be necessary as the village expands to include the river proper. Those that have already relocated are skilled enough for the canals, but for an expanse of that width and depth, I would prefer an expert,” Tobirama answered.

“Hmm,” Hikaku said, “and the future electrical grid hydraulics are pulling from the reservoir is planned for where?”

Tobirama used his pen to point. “North of the river, before the falls. Here, where the river routes around the cliffs. Plans to carve out the reservoir basin are already underway with the few _doton_ users to join the village.”

“And your _suiton_?”

“Yes. That too.”

“I thought the Uchiha were handling the dam construction?”

“They were. It was requested that I take over the project.”

Actually, he had been requested to assist, but then the Uchiha had filed so many complaints that he was neglecting his role with Hashirama that his brother had called him in to chastise him for it more than once. Eventually, he’d just ended up completely taking over the project in self-defence.

“But I thought you were working on the plans for the village defenses?”

Tobirama nodded, and pulled out his storage book. He flipped to the tab labeled ‘Defenses’, and opened it to the first page, labeled Overview. Tapping the storage seal below the title with his chakra, he took the scroll that popped out, ignoring the puff of smoke. He’d look at trying to minimize or negate that completely later, or whenever it annoyed him enough to bump it to the top of his to-do list. This scroll was larger than the others he had on the table, but it was an overview of the entire project, his progress thus far, and plans for the future. 

He handed it to Hikaku. The other man was basically running the Uchiha Clan at this point, and Hashirama had made it clear that the Uchiha Clan was privy to all the information that Tobirama included in his briefings to his brother, for all that none of them had ever bothered to attend. There was nothing in that scroll that Hikaku wasn’t allowed to access. 

After what must have been an hour of HIkaku pouring over the scroll Tobirama had given him while the Senju continued his own work, they were interrupted by a Hyuuga attendant who brought them breakfast. Tobirama rolled up the map and set it aside so they had a place to put the food, rice, miso soup, tamago, and natto. He didn’t bother putting the map away, as he told Hanami-dono he would bring it by to their discussion today, but one by one, he sealed the other scrolls back into their place in his book, leaving only the one Hikaku had yet to put down.

Tobirama didn’t bother waiting for the Uchiha to finish, or even rouse himself enough to eat, just served himself and turned his mind to the things he wanted to go over with Hanami-dono this morning. So far, the Hyuuga head was impressive in her logic. She was level-headed and fair, but also perfectly aware of her own authority. It was a refreshing change. 

Tobirama liked her, against his better instincts. She was a good Clan Head, focused and respected. As far as the Senju could tell, she towed the line between feared and loved well. Most likely due to the seal on the forehead of all Hyuuga not part of the head family, which Tobirama had quickly realized she was the anchor for. If it was a deadman’s switch Hikaku implied, she would likely hold the key. 

Autocracies were dangerous things, often a double edged sword. Dynasties built on fear crumbled all the time, but Hanami seemed determined to soften the ever potent threat of instant death by her hand with love and at least nominal consent. She met with her councillors, raised their concerns, and heeded their advice. If push came to shove, Tobirama was sure she would not flinch in exercising her authority, but for now, she managed the middle road better than most. Even Hashirama could not claim half as much tact with the Senju elders. 

A fact that was becoming more and more obvious.

Furthermore, she was a loving mother. Anyone with eyes could see that she was fully invested in the success of her daughters. 

“_Doton_?” Hikaku interrupted his train of thought. 

“Hmm?” he questioned, mouth full of rice.

“It says here that when you were carving the tunnels, you used a _doton_ technique to strengthen the walls. It would have to be an infused technique. But you’re a _suiton_ user.”

Oh. That. 

He swallowed, and explained. “Within each person, there exists all of the five elements that make up the elemental jutsus: Wind, Water, Earth, Fire, and Lightning. When chakra is manipulated, it flows easiest down the path the user is most naturally inclined towards. It is like water traveling over rock. The most direct route is the easiest and most natural. We call this phenomenon affinities.”

Hikaku nodded to show he was following.

“However, all chakra systems are basically the same. Differences in affinities are mostly genetic, but they are, at their basest level, arbitrary pathways that become further ingrained by repetitive use,” he continued.

“But I thought that there were two kinds of chakra, one that interacts with affinities and one that doesn’t?” 

Tobirama shook his head, “No. That is a common way to explain the interactions between chakra and jutsus at a base level, as it allows for the shinobi in training to be aware of the difference in sensation between moulding chaka for elemental use and for so called ‘standard’ techniques. Effective, but not necessarily correct.”

“So, they are the same?” Hikaku sounded confused. “But then, what accounts for the variance?”

“Balance, mostly, between yin and yang chakra.”

“But you just said there weren’t two kinds of chakra?” the Uchiha just sounded more confused, had set aside the scroll and put his hands on his knees to focus entirely on Tobirama.

Hm. All the way to the basics then.

“Chakra exists in all things, yes?” he asked, and was gratified at the nod. “The monks believe that it is the essence of life, and that it is the balance between the five elements that gives the universe its shape. Likewise, there is a balance between the body and the soul that is essential to finding success in jutsu. As chakra is in everything, there are two ways to harvest it from ourselves, giving rise to the belief that there are two kinds of chakra, but there is not. Chakra is chakra.”

Here, Hikaku nodded despite still feeling bewildered.

“The chakra that most shinobi bother to gather comes from the physical self. It is collected from our very cells. As it is on the same plane as our bodies, it is easier to grasp while we train the rest of our physical selves. However, as you attempt high level jutsus, often meditation becomes an important gateway to unlocking that technique. This is common practice, but few realize that this is the only way to gather the chakra stored in your spiritual self. This chakra, gathered through the mind, is called yin, while chakra gathered from the body is called yang.”

Hikaku looked thoughtful. He wondered how much the Uchiha philosophies on chakra varied from the Senjus, who brokered on the wisdom of the monks from the Fire Temple.

“As meditation requires a level of mental maturity and experience, this type of chakra manipulation is often seen as a mark of adulthood. Likewise, elemental ninjutsus deal almost exclusively with yin chakra, which is why they are some of the last mastered. They require inner reflection and focus to even unlock. And the ways in which we instinctively reach for them are determined by our affinities.”

He paused to let that sink in, and took a sip of his tea before continuing. “Some are meant to run for miles, some to sprint. Some to wield a sword, others to spin a staff. This does not mean that they can not learn other skills, nor that they can’t eventually gain equal proficiency in skills that do not come as naturally with sufficient training.”

Finally, it seemed that Hikaku was understanding. Just to make sure, he put it another way.

“It is the same with taijutsu training. When muscles are used in the same motion over and over again, they become accustomed to the movement. Continued training and repetition further cement these responses so that they become instinctual. A block that happens without a thought, or a strike you don’t need to think about to make. Ingrained motions cause the chakra to react the same way to the same stimuli.”

He finished his tea, and set down the porcelain cup. It had been a long time since anyone other than the young Kagami indulged his habit of over-explanation. Shaking his head lightly, he found that he was annoyed at himself for lecturing another fully grown shinobi. It was not as if Hikaku needed any help, formidable as he was.

Tobirama decided to wrap things up.

“But just as a taijutsu user can alter their steps and learn a new style, so too can a chakra user force themselves to use a different affinity. It is much more difficult however, as we begin moulding chakra nearly from birth. Our affinities are often set before our conscience can detect them. And just as it is much more difficult to unlearn a learned habit, so too is it equally more difficult to manipulate chakra in a way unaccustomed. It will never be as easy but it is entirely possible. It's just that by the time most begin training, their chakra pathways are as set as a river that has carved a deep gorge. Forcing chakra another way requires focus, and, for myself at least, deep concentration and a knowledge of self that can be found and honed through meditation. But it can be done,” he said, and brought his hands together, flashing through half a dozen seals before looking away into the open space and saying, “_Katon: Chiratsuki no Honou_.”

A small flame, barely enough to light a candle, but blue hot, streamed from his whistled mouth to discharge harmlessly about two feet from him, carefully away from the flammable walls. 

When he canceled the jutsu, he looked back at Hikaku to find the Uchiha staring at him, open mouthed.

Tobirama didn’t think it was anything particularly impressive. Hashirama’s _mokuton_ was a convergence of two affinities, after all, and his mastery of it was far more notable then Tobirama’s passing ability to light a campfire. _Katons_ were always his weakest. 

The door slid open behind him and a Hyuuga attendant entered and bowed.

“Senju-sama, Uchiha-sama, Hanami-sama hopes you have finished your meal and will join her in the gardens.”

Tobirama looked back to Hikaku, who had thankfully stopped gawking and stood, collecting the map as he did so. 

Time to get back to work. There was, as always, more than enough to be done.

He could only hope that they were equal to the task.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Lovely to see you all again. I hope everyone out there is staying safe and healthy. 
> 
> A couple things really quick. First, this chapter has been a long time in the works. It has gone through at least three full edits, but was written a long time ago, back when this fic was just a vague concept and well before the first few chapters were written, so it has had to be significantly altered. However, if anyone notices anything inconsistent with what I've already posted, please don't hesitate to let me know and I'll try to bring it back in line with what I've already established. That said, I really like some of the dialogue in this one, so please let me know what you think!
> 
> P.S. Since a lot of comments seem to have missed it, I'll just gently point back to the go game in Chapter 9. Dear old uncle Mutsuhito is very much involved in the coup, since he was playing go with Omura while Noriko watched. Totally understandable, since there's a lot of OCs to keep track of ^_^;
> 
> Also, some of you may have noticed that the chapter count has changed. When I first put it in, I mentioned that it was a lowball guesstimate, but I finally got around to outlining the rest of this fic with my matchless and amazing beta/sister LostInThePines, and this new number is much more realistic to what I have planned. Sorry for any confusion. I'm a disorganized mess, but I promise I mean well.
> 
> As always, your guys' comments and kudos give me life. It really is amazing and heartening to hear from people that they like what you're doing, so please drop me a line if you have the time and inclination. 
> 
> All my love,  
Moth <3


	12. Chapter 12

It was in times like this when Izuna missed his aniki most. Times when he felt so fucking helpless he could scream. When all he felt was afraid. Panicked. All his life, his brother had been the one to protect him, to help him up when he tumbled, correct his footing when he misstepped. 

There was a warmth in Madara, a flame that beckoned and Izuna felt like _ice_ without it. Aching. A limb lost without the body to ground it.

Izuna tried to be strong, but the longer he sat here, the longer he was left with nothing but a shadow for company and even the last shade of hope dwindling. The longer Tobirama was away.

Well. He missed him. Missed him a lot. 

-

The longer Tobirama was away from the village, the harder he found it to focus on his mission in the wake of his lingering worry. 

Not for the village itself, though the messenger falcon his brother had sent him was indeed troubling, but for the man he’d left defenseless in his guest room.

When Tobirama made the decision to save Izuna all those months ago, it was purely on instinct, a rash decision he soon regretted. 

That regret, along with many other similar sentiments, had grown the longer he kept the man’s survival hidden in his once empty guest room. His initial desire to use the Uchiha’s predicament (straddling the precipice between life and death) to his own scientific purposes had been fleeting when it became clear he had no way of verifying that any of his attempts to wake the man were merely moderately successful or exacerbating the situation for the worse, extending his suffering (if he was indeed suffering). He wasn’t even able to determine if Izuna’s state was due to the _Edo: Tense_ itself or whatever mechination that had brought him to the riverbank in the first place. 

Tobirama wasn’t even sure if it was _either of those_, or if it had been any of the other dozens of things he had attempted in the pursuit of waking the man. Despite months of study, he still knew virtually nothing about what had caused the Uchiha’s semi-living state, or what kept him from fully waking. 

He had no answers, hadn’t from the beginning.

And then there was the dishonesty that keeping Izuna Uchiha’s survival a secret required. The sacrilege. 

He could clearly see the gap between himself and Hashirama that just kept widening as Tobirama tried to keep his betrayal a secret. Hashirama, for all Tobirama occasionally teased him for it, was far from stupid. He knew his brother knew he was keeping a secret, but suddenly it felt like he was scrambling to hold things together between them even as he was being pulled in a thousand different directions, just trying to keep afloat, keep the village they were trying to build afloat. Things kept going wrong; he was perpetually failing at every step he took to make things better, and all he could do was invest more energy into fixing his mistakes; try harder…

Before Tobirama had fully understood what had happened, everything had changed around him, and suddenly the comatose body of an Uchiha, his Clan’s once eternal enemy, and Tobirama’s direct rival for most of his life, had become the only thing that was still holding him together. 

There was a need there, within himself, to focus on something, _anything_ beyond the disaster that dogged his steps at every turn; but in this one person who was depending entirely on him, well...

The Uchiha was something to come home to. Tobirama didn’t usually give way to sentiment, but he couldn’t help but… miss that. Miss having someone to talk to, even given that company’s current state. 

(It had been so long since he and Hashirama had had time to just talk to each other, if they’d ever really had that.)

Especially now, given this mission’s specific parameters and length.

There was very little Tobirama liked less than the banal necessity of tedious formality. It was unfortunate this was the exact description which defined the traditional Hyuuga tea ceremony. 

Tobirama had been to his share of tea ceremonies. They were a common diplomatic tool all across the shinobi continent, but the Hyuuga took the tradition to another level. Haruhi had been good enough to warn them of the particulars, how Hyuuga ceremonies differed from other tea ceremonies, but these changes were primarily the heavily scripted dialogue repeated between the guests and the host, roles and lines dictated by the social standing of everyone involved that never changed but in the minutia.

It wasn’t the multitude of rules Tobirama objected to, or even the fact that there were never more than five people invited, or that those five people were always the same: himself and Hikaku, obviously, and then the entire main family, including Hanami and both of her daughters, Haruhi, and the younger, quieter Hekimi. No, it was more that every elder of the clan seemed expected to host them. And moreso, that they each lasted _four_ hours.

Tobirama hadn’t spent so many hours sitting ever, in his entire memory. Perhaps not even as an infant.

Beyond how _long_ they lasted, Tobirama was plain-speaking, and hours of not being able to say anything at all, let alone what he actually wanted to was grating. And he knew that the work being accomplished during these ceremonies, the ingratiating of Konoha to the Hyuuga elders, was as important as it was unquantifiable. Beyond the ties being made across a shared meal, the fundamental of any tea ceremony - Hyuuga included - was respect, both given and earned. They were entirely diplomatic functions dressed up as art.

That didn’t make them any less irritating. 

When he’d first received this assignment, he hadn’t expected to be able to get much work done, had known he would be busy but the first few days had fooled him. He’d managed to get so much work done, that those days of productivity had spoiled him. 

It made it all the more and more difficult to arrive back late having not accomplished the work he had set for himself for the day. He thought, foolishly, that he might be able to catch up, had created a schedule to make that possibility a reality, and then the invitations began, and he had to make his peace with the fact that _four productive hours_ were spent wasting time and drinking tea.

He took a quiet, deep breath and reminded himself to stop thinking of it as ‘wasting time’, or it would eventually show on his face. 

After the daily tea ceremony, there was another meeting with Hanami-sama, one in which she asked detailed, pointed questions about Konoha’s constitution, which she and the Hyuuga were required to swear to and uphold if they chose to join the village. She quizzed him on the most minute details, and, once she realized that he had written the document himself, on the historical precedents he’d drawn from in front of not only Hikaku and Haruhi, but several elders he had by now become at least marginally acquainted with. 

It wasn’t the topic that had made the experience tiring, it was refreshing talking to someone about the thought and care that went into the document, but rather that Hanami herself was such a force.

Every word he spoke had to be precisely chosen. Anything less and Hanami would turn the conversation back on him. It was as frustrating as it was impressive.

And exhausting. It was often past midnight when they returned to their rooms. 

Tonight was such a night. Tobirama was always grateful to be done for the day. He asked the attendant stationed outside their door to fetch them a late dinner, which he’d spread across the table as he worked.

Hikaku had vanished into the bedroom as soon as they’d arrived. He hadn’t been hungry apparently, but Tobirama still had a long night ahead of him.

There was so much he needed to do.

The falcon from Konoha had come with a dozen new marching orders and requests that he needed to work through before tomorrow’s meetings. 

Apparently, his departure hadn’t been as smooth as he had arranged. He probably should have expected it, despite the careful instructions he’d left. He had, of course, covered the most important bases himself, considering his recent communication issues, but if the reports were to be believed, Taka had done exactly zero of the deliveries he’d asked of her, designating people to take up his duties. 

Those that he had spoken to in person and still hadn’t followed his instruction were either willfully intransigent, or had received alternate instructions.

Either way-

“Tobirama?”

The Senju blinked and glanced up to find Hikaku standing in the doorway to their shared sleeping room, hair down, in pajamas. From the creases in them, he had already been laying in them for some time. 

Which gave Tobirama pause. He would have sworn it had been a few minutes since they’d got in, but glancing at the clock he’d brought from home told him it had been hours, announced that it was two-thirty in the morning like an accusation.

“Ah,” he said in acknowledgement as he rubbed his suddenly burning eyes. “Apologies if I have kept you up. I lost track of the time.”

“It’s fine,” Hikaku said as he leaned against the door frame. “Are you still working?”

Obviously. 

He didn’t say that, knew that it would come across as short tempered, so he settled for nodding and went back to his work. He would need to sleep soon. His mind was wandering. 

“Do you want some company?”

Tobirama looked up, surprised, even if the rest of his face gave no sign.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Kagami had actively desired to spend time with him. Had offered to pass a moment in his company without it being required. Not only that, but it was late. Hikaku was clearly tired, had already been in bed, but…

As subtly as he could, Tobirama expanded his senses just enough to suss out Hikaku’s intention, but he felt nothing but a hint of wariness and the warmth of sincerity. No trace of a lie anywhere and-

His smile looked like Kawarama’s had. Quiet and earnest.

So, Tobirama nodded. “I have no objection,” he said, and wasn’t sure why it made Hikaku seem so pleased.

The Uchiha sat across from him, and pulled out his poetry book of the day. As far as Tobirama could tell, he and the Hyuuga heiress had worked out a system where Hikaku would read the book she gave him in the evening, and then discussed it with her during the breaks in their diplomatic talks, before trading for a new one. By the looks of it, he was almost done with it.

Tobirama went back to his work.

“Do you like poetry?” Hikaku asked after a moment. 

Shrugging, Tobirama replied, “I have never had the time to indulge in the study of it specifically, but I can appreciate the poetry of the everyday.”

“The cadence of life?” 

“I suppose,” Tobirama mused back. “When I get a moment to simply enjoy it.”

Hikaku hummed his agreement.

“Well, it seems to be serious business here. Most of these,” he held up his book in indication, “are written in collaboration between three or more poets in harmony, often even ad-libbed at gatherings specifically for that purpose. Some of them are genius.”

“The Senju do something similar on the solstices.”

“Really?” Hikaku asked. “What are they like?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never attended.”

He had never wanted to, not really. By the time he was old enough that his presence at such an event would have been appropriate, he was more than aware that he wouldn’t be particularly welcome. His clan were always polite - their fear of his father would allow for nothing less - but they were never successful at hiding their disdain for him. Perhaps if it had mattered more to him, he might have tried to force a change in their opinion through exposure, tried to _make_ them see him, but that was not his way. A life in the shadows was what he prefered, and that his family’s unfriendly eyes had given him a perfect excuse was serendipitous. Besides, he had nothing to prove to anyone.

It would hardly matter anyway. Next to the bright star of his brother, he would never really compare.

“That’s a shame,” Hikaku said, and he sounded like he meant it. “Would you like me to read to you while you work?”

Tobirama’s hand ceased its writing.

That was not something that anyone had ever offered to him. Ever. To spend time with him while he worked through the night. 

His immediate response was suspicion, but again, all he felt from Hikaku was sincerity.

“... it’s late,” was all he could think of to reply with.

It was Hikaku’s turn to shrug. “You’re still up.”

“Yes, but I’m hardly the ideal person upon which to model healthy sleeping habits,” replied Tobirama with the wryness the sentiment deserved. 

Another shrug from the Uchiha. He reached out for some of the _edamame_ that Tobirama had left uneaten from dinner and popped it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before he answered.

“To be honest, I haven’t felt so well rested in years,” Unsurprising, considering that Hikaku, like him, had spent most of his adult life at war. “It’s making me restless. I doubt I could go back to sleep if I tried.”

“... Very well.”

Hikaku smilled, and flipped open his borrowed book. 

“This one is one of my favorites:

_I look over the misty base_

_of the mountain where_

_the Minase River runs through —_

_Why did they say the evening_

_was best in autumn?_

_As it snows the base_

_of the mountain is misty_

_this evening_

_Far in the way the water goes_

_a plum-blossom-smelling hamlet_

_The wind from the river_

_sways weeping willows_

_now it’s spring_...”

Tobirama let the words pass over him, one poem flowing easily into the next, until the sun began to rise, and he could roll up his latest work and try to catch a few hours of sleep. 

Hikaku stayed with him the whole time. It was… nice.

-

Hatake Akiko was aware that she was a hard woman to impress.

There was very little that could move her, and her good opinion, once lost, was lost forever, and so far the Uchiha were doing a pretty damn good job at cementing themselves as permanent residents on her shit list.

Her recent meeting with their Clan Head, the ever pigheaded Madara, who was still useless, hadn’t done much by way of helping them either. 

As one of the last of her clan to come in after a week spent on patrol, she hadn’t been looking forward to the necessity of giving her report before allowing herself to go to bed. She’d come in last deliberately. She hadn’t wanted to leave anyone out there unaccounted for, so she and her son had taken the longest route, perpetually checking in on the other patrols. 

Poor Toboe had looked like an overcooked noodle by the time she’d cut him loose, and she hadn’t felt much better, but she had a report to give.

To say she was… displeased to find Madara-sama, making himself at home in Tobirama’s office was certainly one way of putting it.

He’d moved the mission desk to the Senju’s office, and made himself at home. 

It rankled. 

But after a week running patrols, she was hoping to just hand over her report and get out of there. Bed was calling, and she was about to kill everyone in her way of her shower. 

The frazzled look on his face, growing increasingly frustrated with each person who was reporting in, almost made up for the indignity of having to _wait in line_. 

She should’ve come in through the window. Then she’d be at the front. She _dared_ the pathetic Shimura civilian currently blathering what must be his _whole life’s story_ to stop her. 

Toboe put his hand on her arm. She realized she was growling. 

But the man in front of her stepped aside and out of her way, bumping into the person in front of him, and soon the path was clear. 

A better person, might have noticed the mountain of paperwork spilling off of _Tobirama’s desk_ and taken pity on the man. Maybe given him an oral report that the perimeter was still secure, and that her clan had been relieved by some of the Inuzuka’s. 

But she hated him. 

So, she didn’t. 

Instead, she said, “Here.” Threw it at him, and left. 

She didn’t tell him the Hatake clan was back, safe and sound. It was all in the report. He could read it at his leisure. 

Her idiot son, seeing the baffled look on the Uchiha’s face, and his mother’s biting grin, sighed, and stayed behind, giving up his own shower for the time being. 

What a cute little martyr. 

To be fair, she didn’t know Tobirama well, had only met him a handful of times and only shared the one mission with him, but he had made an impression. And something about Madara’s typical Uchiha scent of ash and iron overwhelming Tobirama’s own sea breeze, still bloodsoaked in her most recent memory, in what was clearly the other man’s space, felt off. Wrong.

She tried to shake the feeling off. She got over-instinctual when over-tired, a family trait.

The best way to kick it was to force herself to think logically, and _logically_, she didn’t like the Uchiha. She didn’t like Madara in particular for his own woeful lack of leadership skills, but the rest of his clan weren’t much better as far as she was concerned..

It wasn’t just the incident with that brat Saito, either. The Uchiha couldn’t even seem to work well _together_. Within their own family, she could _smell_ the dissent, even if it was subtle. It stunk of disloyalty. 

The whole clan rank of dissent. 

There were rumors, loud and oft repeated, that Madara was _either_ the best thing that had ever happened to them, or the worst. That _Tobirama_ was out to get them when it was manifestly opposite. There were no two ways about it. The clan was fracturing, inside and out, and Madara did nothing about it. 

And as a Hatake, she was particularly biased against that sin. 

Even a tremor could start an avalanche if one wasn’t careful, and the Uchiha seemed to have all the care of a wrecking ball. She had only been back for a day, and she could _feel_ it in the way that they eyed each other and everyone else. The way that everyone else was eyeing _them_.

Something was coming. She could just feel it. 

“Hey, Hatake!” 

… Inuzuka Sango was not the type of thing she’d been thinking of, but she was equally problematic. 

Akiko wondered if it was too late to hide. 

Sango was the Inzuka Clan Head, and by all accounts, a damn good one. Akiko could attest to it personally, having known Sango for years during their clans’ fluctuation of on again, off again alliance. 

Whereas the Uchiha appeared scattered, disorganized in a way that made Akiko’s hackles rise (no one in her clan would have the balls to attack an ally she’d declared,) the Inuzuka were as coherent in their pack structure as the Hatake themselves. Everyone knew their place and knew better than to question it unless they wanted to face Sango’s wrath.

And what a wrath it was. Akiko had never found someone so alike in temperament to herself as the other woman. Perhaps that was why they didn’t like each other much.

Still, they were both Clan Heads, and women, and that left them in a tiny, exclusive club, so they made an effort to make nice, or at least Akiko did, raising a tired hand in greeting. Sango too, if the sharp toothed grin she sent across the street was any indication.

The Inuzuka dismissed her tagalong clansmen and ninken with the barest of gestures that they read easily, and crossed the street. The people she passed on her way over got out of the other woman’s way, or bowed as she passed out of respect. The Inuzuka were a large and prestigious clan, much more so than the Hatake, and Sango was never one to take any disrespect lying down. By now, the whole village knew to make way. 

“Long time no see,” the wild Inuzuka said, halting in front of Akiko with a bow that was more of a nod, but something Akiko could return easily enough.

So, she did, and agreed, “I know. I’ve been out on missions and patrols.”

“I figured,” said Sango, “You missed a few Clan Head meetings.”

Ugh. That bunch of blowhards. She’d made a point of being busy after the first one where all they’d talked about was utterly redundant nonsense. “What a shame,” she drawled, stretching her neck lazily. 

“Ha!” the Inuzuka barked a laugh, showing off her sharpened canines. “You said it. Anyways, you hungry? There’s a new _takoyaki_ stall I’ve been meaning to try.”

She gestured over her shoulder with a pointed thumb, her wild brown hair falling into sharp eyes as she tilted her head in question.

All Akiko wanted was her bed and a shower. One or the other. But her stomach growled tellingly. She supposed she could eat. 

And make an effort. Two birds with one stone. 

“Why not?” Akiko said, stretching her stiff arms way above her head, hands upright with fingers interlaced, to pop her spine back into place, before resting her still clasped hands behind her head.

She walked next to Akiko, her longer legs keeping up easily with Sango’s aggressive pace. 

There were things, nonverbals, that an outsider would never see, things that made outsiders stand out. The way those in the know got out of Sango’s way, bowed to both of them, or looked down, or nodded, as appropriate. Everyone, from traveling merchants, to blacksmiths, to rice farmers, to (and perhaps especially) shinobi, knew where they stood in relation to two Clan Heads as they strolled down a parted street. 

Akiko would be lying if she said that it was something that bothered her. Deference due was deference paid. 

She was, of course, magnanimous in her position, as anyone in a position of power should be. But she also knew that as a woman in a position of power, any opening would be exploited. Theirs was a world of hierarchy. It had to be to function, and she, like everyone else, knew _exactly_ who she was and how she should be treated. 

The Inuzuka did too. A boy, no more than ten, who wasn’t paying attention as they passed was graced with a snarl that had him scrambling out of their way, head bobbing in a bow.

Akiko looked back at him and winked as she passed.

“Kids these days,” Sango grumbled.

Not replying, Akiko looked up at the clouds. It was a lovely day. 

The _takoyaki_ place was close enough that it took them less than five minutes to get there. The counter was full, but a couple junior ninja saw them coming and got up, taking their almost finished food with them. By the time they had sat down, the server had cleared the space for them and put down menus and cups of tea. 

Akiko picked it up and looked it over. Hmm. It had been a while since she’d had oysters. Might be nice.

“How were the patrols?” Sango asked.

Looking at her sideways, Akiko knew from the line of the other woman’s shoulder that this was not the reason for Sango’s invitation, that she was just passing the time.

So, Akiko just leaned forward on her elbows and drawled out, “Fine,” before telling the chef, “The oyster please.”

“Octopus,” Sango told them gruffly. “So.”

The Hatake grinned at her. Finally, down to business then. “So.”

“The elections for the _Komon_ are coming up.”

Ah. That.

When Akiko had first heard of the proposed village, an alliance of all the clans in the Land of Fire, her first reaction had been one of bemusement. Sure, that it would never happen.

No clan would give up their own autonomy to a dictatorship under the Uchiha _or_ the Senju.

But then the Shimura joined, and the Aburame, the Houki and the Onikuma. By time the Sarutobi had announced their intention to join, bringing the Nara, Yamanaka, and Akimichi with them, Akiko had seen the writing on the wall. Whatever was happening here was extraordinary. And if the Hatake didn’t join, they would be crushed and out-competed by the indomitable alliance forming under their noses. 

So, she had written to the Senju (easily the more reasonable of the two Clans) her interest in bringing the Hatake into the fold, and received a work of genius bound up in a simple scroll.

And she understood why a village was possible now when it hadn’t been before. 

The non-aggression agreement was nothing compared to the Constitution they planned to invoke. 

Akiko had never read anything like it. 

Far from the dictatorship she’d feared, there was a careful balance between the necessity for an ultimate commander of military forces and a need for compromise, for democracy, and for _limits_ on power.

Three different councils, the most senior which gave all of the fighting shinobi in the village an equal share in making decisions that would affect them directly, a civilian council for civic matters, and a council of Clan Heads, who could only veto the others’ decisions with a two-thirds majority. And then above them all, the Hokage. That had concerned her, and evidently the author of the document too, because he spent a good three paragraphs dedicated to the role of the _Kamon_ in limiting the Hokage’s otherwise absolute authority. 

Five elders from any Clan. Elected for year long terms, the _Kamon_ were to be impartial judges, able to bring charges against the Hokage at any time three of them deemed it necessary. Though it would be up to the council of fighting shinobi to give the Hokage a “fair” trial, and another two-thirds majority from the Clan Head’s was necessary in order for the Hokage to be found guilty, much less face punishment, but the principle was there. 

In Konohagakure, no one would ever have absolute, unchecked authority. 

What a world.

But it did mean that the election _Kamon_ would have special significance. Who was chosen could set the tone for all the elections to come.

That didn’t mean Akiko knew why Sango wanted to talk to her about it. The Hatake were a small clan. They only had half a dozen elders between them, none of whom were likely to be in contention. 

“Your point?”

Sango grinned sideways at her. “Come on, Hatake. Who do you think is gonna get picked?”

Akiko took a sip of her tea before answering.

“A Senju and an Uchiha most likely,” she finally said, a gimme answer until Akiko could figure out if Sango had a point, or just wanted to gossip.

“Obviously. Word is it’s likely going to be Uchiha Sanada and Senju Noriko.”

“Makes sense,” Akiko said, leaning back in her chair. “They’re both the most moderate of the options. Probably a Sarutobi too, from the Nara-Yamanaka-Akimichi block.”

Sango huffed her agreement. “Two spots up for grabs still then.”

“They’ll likely hold off the elections until the Hyuuga join so one of theirs can take a spot.”

“_If_ they join,” said Sango.

That got Akiko’s attention. 

“Well,” the white haired woman drawled deliberately. “The Hokage has Tobirama-san on it. I can’t imagine that he won’t succeed.”

Sango’s derisive snort was a clear statement of her opinion. 

And Akiko didn’t like what it implied. At all.

The battered balls, still steaming, were dropped in front of them. Akiko ignored the proprietor's muttered “Enjoy,” choosing instead to stare at the woman next to her.

It didn’t take long for Sango to notice, halfway through chewing the _takoyaki_ she’d popped in her mouth whole. “What?” she asked, mouth still full. 

Gross. 

“You don’t think Tobirama will succeed?” asked Akiko evenly.

Sango didn’t even look back up from her food. “Ha! Not likely. That asshole wouldn’t know diplomacy if it bit him in the ass.” 

“Based on what, exactly?” Akiko asked, and this time Sango did look up, noted the Hatake’s body language and read the annoyance there.

The tension in the Inuzuka’s posture was nearly imperceptible. Minute changes to the way her fingers held her food, the way the line across her shoulders straightened. It wasn’t confrontational, not yet, just wary. 

“Uh, based on every conversation I’ve ever had with him. What’s your problem?” Sango groused, meeting Akiko’s eye for just a moment. 

Akiko just continued staring until Sango met her eyes again, huffed, and deflated again. Only then did the Hatake let a lazy, careless smile she didn’t mean cross her lips.

“I somehow don’t think I’m the one with the problem,” she said simply.

“Che.” Sango looked down at her food and said, “Neither am I.”

“And yet…”

The Inuzuka sighed, and gave up on her food, turning to face Akiko dead on.

“Listen. Every time I’ve met the whelp he’s always been too big for his britches. Never shown an ounce of respect where it’s due.”

“He’s the Hokage’s brother.”

“_Younger_ brother. Not even a Clan Head and he deigns to dictate to me? Come on, Hatake. You’ve met him. Tell me honestly if there was even the tiniest bit of _anything_ remotely respectful?”

Honestly, Akiko didn’t remember. She’d only met Tobirama a few times before she saw him take on far more than his fair share of the enemy. Understood why his reputation as a force of nature had spread across the Land of Fire.

None of that stuck with her as much as seeing him kneel in the dirt to pull a backstabber’s knife out of his own flesh. The way he’d handed it back to the Uchiha, barely a boy, still drenched in his blood, without a word. 

So, no. She hadn’t noticed any ill-respect. Quite the opposite. 

Sango misinterpreted her silence as agreement and turned back, smirking, to her food. 

That wouldn’t do.

“If Tobirama doesn’t show you the respect you feel he owes you, it’s because _you’ve_ yet to earn it.”

“What?”

The Inuzuka turned to her, lip raised in a snarl as her chakra flared, but Akiko was not one to be swayed by bluster. Ever.

“Tobirama _may_ be nothing but the Hokage’s younger brother, but he is a better shinobi than you ever have a hope of being,” the other woman went to interrupt her, but Akiko had heard just about enough of her voice. “That’s not an opinion. That’s a fact. I’ve fought you before, Inuzuka. You’re nowhere near his level. And the same goes for me.”

A Hatake clan head would never admit a weakness that didn’t exist. And Sango _knew_ it. 

The snarl on Sango’s naturally fierce face melted away. “... Really?”

Akiko nodded.

“Spar with him some time. You’ll see what I mean. He doesn’t need to bow to anyone.”

If there was one thing the Inuzuka understood, it was that might meant right. 

“... Huh. But he doesn’t, the rest of the Senju-.” She sat back and appeared to be thinking it over, finally. “Huh,” she said again.

Akiko understood what she meant.

“I know. The Senju are an odd bunch. They do things differently, but trust me. Tobirama’s not who or what you think he is.”

Sango noticed, all at once, that they had drawn an audience of curious ears. In an instant, the snarl was back and her eyes tearing around the small stall had everyone going back to their own business in a hurry. Then she leaned forward and lowered her voice.

“You’ve heard the rumors though, right? He doesn’t support the peace.”

She had, but Akiko knew better than to believe malicious gossip. She’d thought Sango was the same. Apparently not.

“I prefer my own opinions to those of others, and so far I’ve personally seen Tobirama make more than enough sacrifices to make this village work.”

Looking, finally, actually interested in what Akiko had to say, Sango leaned forward.

“Like what?” she asked, quiet to not be overheard again.

Akiko thought about telling her, thought about ignoring Tobirama’s unstated but very clear desire that what happened on the mission remain within the members, ignored the reasons he made the request, but-

He knew, and so did she, that the village was fragile and fracturing enough that something like that could destabilize it entirely. As nothing had happened, and the village was still standing, there were no whispers following where she went, she could only assume he had made good on his own request and kept it quiet.

Really, she could only do the same. To do otherwise would be disloyal, and if there was one thing Hatake’s were, it was _loyal_.

“I won’t tell you,” she decided, and continued before Sango could protest, “But you should think on this: if he didn’t support the peace, would he really be running himself ragged trying to keep the village afloat? He’s doing nearly all the heavy lifting around here, and you know it.”

_That_ had reached her ears before she could even make it back to the Tower. Apparently, it wasn’t just the patrol schedule that had been neglected in Tobirama’s absence. The village was a buzz with the impact that the lack of _one_ man had made, how bad it made both Hashirama and Madara look that it had taken over a week to get it back to rights.

“Huh.”

Sango looked ponderous as she turned back to her meal. Satisfied that the other woman was indeed thinking it over, Akiko, finally, turned to her own meal.

It was surprisingly still edible, for all that it had gone cold. 

Within minutes, all that was left of her serving was an empty plate and the sauce she was licking off her fingers.

“Okay, fine,” Sango said, getting her attention once more. “I’ll give him some room, but I don’t have to like it.”

Changing Inuzuka Sango’s mind about Senju Tobirama hadn’t been Akiko’s goal when she had agreed to a quick bite, but it had eased her conscience a bit. 

“Fair enough,” she agreed. “So, the elections?”

Sango didn’t need anymore of an invitation to leap back into her prior topic, “Oh yeah, so we’re thinking Senju Noriko and Uchiha Sanada as the front runners, and then maybe either Sarutobi Renju or Takanobu? Could be Yukiraza too I suppose. She’s a beast.”

Akiko nodded to show she was still listening, sipping her tea.

“Which, assuming you’re right, leaves one spot for the Hyuuga, and one open spot,” Sango finished, and her sideways glance let Akiko know that they had finally reached the _point_.

“Who did you have in mind?”

“My uncle Yuuta.”

That would make sense, Akiko supposed. Yuuta was level headed for an Inuzuka, and had been Clan Head before he’d grown too old (a feat in itself in the world they lived in) and Sango took over. Akiko could appreciate the logic and humility of someone willing to step aside so that the next generation might take their turn, especially when it was for the good of the Clan. 

“Sounds as good as any option,” she mused.

Sango smirked, satisfied, but then said, “I want you to nominate him.”

Blinking, Akiko asked, “Why me?”

“Come on, Hatake,” implored Sango, “Everyone’s heard about how you had the Hatake step up and run the patrols.”

Okay. Fair enough, she had done that. But that hardly explained why Sango couldn’t put her own kinsman up for election herself.

“Because, I actually want him to get elected,” the Inuzuka Clan Head answered when she asked just that. “And you’re more popular than me.”

Akiko didn’t know about that. 

She narrowed her eyes. Still, she supposed Sango had appeased her once this meal, and it wasn’t as if any of the Hatake Elders wanted to be picked.

_“I’d rather eat sand,”_ her own mother had said.

Eh, why not?

“Alright, I’ll do it,” Akiko said.

“And in return, I’ll cut your man a break.”

Senju Tobirama wasn’t ‘her man’ by any stretch of the imagination, but if Sango’s support meant that the Senju was a little less likely to be stabbed, well, Akiko had done more for less.

They shook on it.

Having gotten what she wanted, Sango waved over their server for the check.

“Want to go half and-”

But the time she looked up, Akiko was long gone, two rooftops over and very happy to be on her way home. It was only her sharp Hatake ears that let her barely hear their server’s voice as she said, “Thank you, very much,” and drop their bill.

“Bitch!” she heard Sango’s curse loud and clear. “Every time!”

The Hatake’s self-satisfied smile carried her all the way home.

-

Kagami liked Tobi’s Auntie Niita. She was super nice and super smart and Kagami liked spending time with her, even if she was a little spacy sometimes. That was okay, because he was kind of spacy too, but not like her, because he liked to run off and forget whatever bothered him or annoyed him and she just went still sometimes. Quiet. And she stared off into space and loss track of things but that was okay because she always came back from wherever she went with a smile and she ruffled his curls and she was _nice_.

And she taught him how to make _dumplings_.

She was amazing. No wonder Tobi liked her so much.

“See here, Kagami, in the middle of your palm. Bring the fold back in and under.”

Biting his tongue in concentration, he tried his best.

“See!” she said with a smile as she leaned over to inspect his work, “You’ve got it now.”

“Really?” he asked, eyes wide.

She nodded and held out her hand. He put his lopsided dumpling in it, and she put it in the basket, then handed him another flat circle of dough.

“Try again. Remember to go slow,” she said.

“Right!” he said, and tried his best.

“Very good,” she said, and put his new, slightly less lopsided dumpling in the basket with the half a dozen she’d done while he worked on his two.

She really was really nice. Like Tobirama. They didn’t look much alike, but the longer he knew her, the more sure he was that they must be related, like Kagami and his sister were related, not like him and Uncle Madara, who was still family, but only a little. Kagami had never even met the other man, not really, though he’d seen him around a lot. Still, Nita must have known Tobi a long time because they were both so similar. Tobirama knew a lot, and so did Niita. They knew different things, but it was still so much more than Kagami knew or could imagine knowing, but they never made him feel bad about not knowing, both said the same thing, _“If you don’t ask, you won’t learn”_ and… no one had ever told him that before. 

It wasn’t that people didn’t answer his questions, because they did! But only the first question, or the second, or sometimes the third, but they always ran out of answers long before Kagamir ran out of questions and sometimes he didn’t know how to stop.

But they didn’t seem to mind.

“Hey, auntie?” he asked. She had told him he could call her that, he didn’t just assume or anything rude! But now he called her that all the time and she really _didn’t_ mind and he wanted to know why.

“Yes, Kagami-chan?”

So he asked.

“How come you and Tobi-kun let me talk so much?”

She looked at him, her amber eyes warm, but she was frowning.

“What do you mean, Kagami-chan?”

“Well, sometimes when I talk people tell me not to and I think maybe if I talked less people would like me more, but I have a lot to say, and sometimes I feel like no one is listening, but you and Tobi-kun always listen and let me ask all my questions even though there are like, seventy-five-hundrend-million of them, and-”

“Oh, Kagami-chan.”

Niita was frailer than his mama when she pulled him into her lap. She was in a nice kimono with the sleeves pulled back and an apron on and his mama never dressed like that, and he was really just a little too big to be in her lap, but he wrapped his arms around her anyways because it felt nice, she smelled nice.

“Sometimes, people can be thoughtless,” she said. “Especially to those they love. It’s hard, when someone is in front of you every day, to imagine the world without them and remember to be _grateful_ for the time they have together. I’m sure your family love hearing your voice, and would much, much rather have your questions than learn what life is like without them.”

“Really?” he asked, and didn’t know why the arms around him were shaking as she nodded. 

“Really,” he could hear her swallow as she loosened her grip on him and let him slide away back to the floor next to her. 

She wasn’t looking at him anymore, looking away and dabbing at her face with the sleeve of her kimono. He knew, sort of sometimes, that staring was rude, but he didn’t want to miss anything. 

Her eyes were a little red when she turned back, but she was still smiling, the lines on her face deepening with emotion.

Kagami liked them. They let him know what she was thinking. Different ones for different things. And these weren’t angry lines or thoughtful ones, but kind ones and he liked them.

She was still smiling as he reached up to get the last tear that was falling from her eye. She cupped his hand and shook it like they were making an agreement. “Well, dear, we’d better get back to it. Those dumplings aren’t going to make themselves.”

She handed him another piece of dough. He picked back up the spoon and put a maybe too large spoonful of filling and plopped it into the middle of the dough. He ran the water around the outside with his finger and then pinched it shut.

“Slowly now, remember?” she said and he slowed down.

“Who are we making the dumplings for?” he asked.

Auntie Niita’s hands slowed, then stilled. 

“They’re for my daughter, Kiko. They were-”

But Kagami was too excited to wait for her to finish, butted in, saying, “You have another daughter? Can I meet her? Is she nice like you and Tobi? I bet she is. I bet she’s-”

“Kagami.” Oh- oh no. That was a _no_ voice. A voice that meant Kagami had messed up and he had never heard it from her before and he didn’t mean to- “It’s okay. You just can’t meet her. She’s- she’s gone.”

Oh. _Oh._

“... Did we kill her?”

Kagami knew. He wasn’t supposed to know, but he wasn’t supposed to know a lot of things, like that Suki and Kozue made out behind Todori’s barbecue shop every afternoon between three and three thirty and that there was a basement under the Main House where only the adults were allowed to go, and that there was a diary under his sisters pillow, but he also knew now what he didn’t when he’d first met Tobi.

Their families had been at war. They’d killed each other.

They’d killed Tobi’s brothers. And Tobi had killed Madara’s.

He knew all of this, sort of. But it didn’t make sense because Tobi was nice and Izuna-san had been too, sort of. It was- confusing, and he didn’t like it, and didn’t understand. He wanted to ask, but also, for the first time in maybe his entire life, _he didn’t want to know_.

“No, no sweetie, no,” Niita’s hand, wrinkled and soft, cupped his cheek. “You didn’t kill anyone.”

“But _we_ did. The Uchiha.”

“Maybe, but you are only yourself. What you do is up to you.” 

“But-”

“No but. You’re young, and the past is heavy. Don’t carry it around with you. My-” Niita swallowed, hard, and then continued, “My Kiko would have loved to meet you.”

“... Really?” 

“Really. And dumplings were her favorite. We don’t want to disappoint her.”

And Kagami took to his task with new vigor. And when they were done, when the dumpings were cooked and delicious, they took them to a little shine out in Auntie Niita’s other room. They prayed, and shared a meal with the little girl in the picture.

She had pigtails, and a gap in her teeth like Kagami’s. He thinks he would have liked to meet her too.

“Thank you for your help today, Kagami,” Niita said as he put his shoes back on to go.

“Of course! I told Tobi I would look after you for him and this was fun. I’ll be back tomorrow okay?”

She didn’t answer.

“Auntie Niita?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at her. 

She looked. Different. She was staring off into space above him. Her hand, holding the doorway was white knuckled.

“... Auntie Niita?” he said again, more urgently this time, and he stood, tugged on her sleeve. 

She startled, gasped a little. And looked back at him like she was surprised to see him standing there.

“You okay, Auntie?”

“Of course I am. Sorry. I must have- been lost in thought.”

She didn’t look like she’d been lost in thought. She looked like she wanted to throw up. And she looked shaky, and sick.

“... are you sure?”

The smile she sent him was brittle, and the sheen of sweat on her neck was weird, but she said, “Of course I’m sure. I’ll see you soon, right little one?”

That settled it. Kagami was coming back tomorrow.

“Right,” he said with a big grin, and startled her by hugging her tight around her waist. “Thank you, Auntie!”

He was too far away to hear her quiet response.

“You are more than welcome.”

-

He didn’t know how he could have been so right and wrong at the same time.

Madara had both known, and not wanted to, that Tobirama had more work than anyone really understood. Had figured out after one day following in the other man’s footsteps, but at the same time, hadn’t _got_ it. Didn’t see. He had the best eyes among the Uchiha and he’d been _blind_.

The workload was not just impossible to understand. It was just impossible. 

Madara had been a Clan Head for nearly half his life. He was not unfamiliar with the work that running a bureaucracy entailed. But he also knew what was possible in a day, and what wasn’t.

And this was impossible.

He didn’t even know how Tobirama kept track of everything. There was no foundation beneath him to help, no assistance worth anything. Every corner Madara turned ended with “Tobirama’s always handled that,” or “No, the Senju can handle that,” or one very brave, now singed, person actually asked, “Why should I when Tobirama can and has been doing it?” He’d had no support in any corner it seemed. No one else had stepped up and taken some of the responsibility from Tobirama’s already overburdened shoulders, and now there were so many voids to fill without him that Madara didn’t know where to even begin. 

Madara didn’t even have time to put out one fire before another would start. He had never in his life been so busy, and he couldn’t even look to Hashirama for help because his only real friend was just as crushed by the vacuum as he was.

There was just so much to do. Every falcon from Tobirama felt like an unholy blessing.

He made it seem easy. Madara kind of hated him for it.

And for other reasons. How could he just leave the village in such a state? Two weeks later and they were _still_ scrambling. It made both him and Hashirama look utterly incompitent in comparison, which they weren’t. They were just woefully unprepared. 

Tobirama hadn’t even made it clear to _anyone_ how deep his involvement in the village went. 

It had been a while, but Madara’s suspicion that the younger Senju must be up to something was back.

Had Tobirama done it on purpose? Was his intent to sabotage the Hokage’s reputation?

Madara didn’t think so, but that was nonetheless the result. The disrespect for Hashirama was growing every day they couldn’t get the village projects up and running, and everyone, even Madara, knew it. Everyone behaved, for the most part, but they were all, from the lowest traveling merchants to the Council of Elders, frustrated with the disorganization.

“It’s as if they’ve forgotten how easily we could crush them, right broth-”

Madara looked over his shoulder, and shattered when Izuna wasn’t standing there, grinning at him.

He’d thought-

Just for a moment, it had felt-

Izuna was there. Madara could feel him.

But he wasn’t. Would never be.

It had felt so real for that one moment that Madara had _forgotten_, had slipped back to a time when he still had someone at his back. Someone left to hold onto.

But he didn’t.

Madara whipped his head back to stare down at the report in front of him, unseeing. He felt himself begin to shake, and he clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth ached. His hands clenched into fist so tight, he could feel the blood run up and out from between his fingertips as nails cut skin.

None of it compared, not even a little, to the shards of glass grinding in his heart.

Pain and regret and _guilt_ welled up inside of him. But, as always, rage was easier.

His hands flew out and all of the piles of papers, days worth of work, spilled onto the ground in front of him, useless.

It was all useless.

He let himself collapse into the chair behind him. Only for a moment before he remembered all at once in whose chair he sat. In whose office he had worked, had stayed, had _slept_ and-

There was no one left to catch him.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> A new update finally. First and foremost, huge shout out to LostInThePines for all of her help making this fic possible. This one might be a bit shorter than the last one, but I had to split it half because the two together was just getting out of hand in terms of how long it was. The good news is that the next chapter, therefore is almost ready to go, and should be out in a week or so, God willing. 
> 
> My next bit of news is a personal update. Due to Covid-19, my hours at work have been halved. This might seem like it would leave me with more time to write, but what it has actually done has left me so anxious I wasn't able to write because I'm worried about paying my bills, and getting called in to work at any given moment, and hitting the right hours... as I'm sure many of you know, it's a lot more than just fear of getting sick. But don't worry too much about me. Things are settling down and it looks like I will be able to make ends meet. I hope that you all share in my good fortune in that regard. 
> 
> Lastly, my usual method of answering comments right before I update is swiftly becoming impractical. I absolutely love hearing from each and every one of you, but will I be transitioning into trying to answer reviews closer to when they come in, rather than using my responses as a heads up for updates. I hope this doesn't deter people from commenting as it gives me great joy hearing from all of you, or even just a kudos or a friendly lurk. I love you all.
> 
> -Moth


	13. Chapter 13

Izuna had been raised to hate Tobirama long before he’d actually met him.

He remembered his father sweeping his feet out from under him, putting the cold steel of a kunai to his throat. 

_“The son of Butsuma will not give you second chances,” his father had said, “you cannot give him an inch. Remember, if you fall, so too will those behind you. Now, try again.”_

There had never been any doubt that Tobirama would kill him, would kill his entire family, if Izuna gave an inch.

He had never been _allowed_ to doubt. Not like Madara had. Madara, who had his big dreams fanned by a friend he never should have met, let himself be led astray by a smile from a boy just as delusional as he was, who thought he could supplant _Izuna’s place_ as Madara’s brother and best friend. 

But even Madara had eventually come to see that truce was impossible. Even if it took years of convincing, he eventually saw.

It wasn’t even their father who finally convinced him, not really, because even though he _should_ have, their father never punished Madara for it, for sneaking behind all of their backs to tarry with treason, for all the hundreds of little lies that had facilitated all of those meetings, for shrugging off his duties to play make believe, for _any_ of it. Tajima didn’t have to express disappointment. Izuna knew Madara felt it all the same.

That didn’t mean Izuna had to be so lenient. He had given Madara the cold shoulder for weeks. He hadn’t wanted to _stand_ by him, let alone speak to him.

Madara had chosen the son of their enemy and placed him above his family for _months_. Over all of them, but Izuna especially. And Izuna would see to it Madara _never_ forgot how wrong that was.

Madara had begged, even grovelled, as he tried to convince Izuna to forgive him, to listen, but Izuna wouldn’t budge. 

If Madara couldn’t be the strong one on this, Izuna would be strong enough for the both of them. 

The Senju were murderers and thieves. They were not to be trusted under any circumstances. And if his aniki thought he got to _forget_ for one second who it was who still hunted them down, he had another thing coming. 

So, years passed, and Izuna never let him forget the _facts_.

No Senju could be trusted.

The years that followed had proven Izuna right. The Senju let no weakness go unpunished. Even if Hashirama proved to be a better, worthier opponent than his father had, had taken steps to curb the worst of the war’s brutality, he’d done _nothing_ to stop the violence.

Sure, he’d sent the occasional plea for peace, but even Madara knew that he couldn’t be sincere. Not without his clan behind him. And regardless of how sincere Madara _wanted_ Hashirama to be, there could be no doubt that the other Senju were nowhere near ready to make any kind of peace. Not when they still ambushed Uchiha on missions, still actively stole their clients, still killed them in cold blood even outside of pitched battle. 

Not when Senju Tobirama’s blade was as formidable as ever, carving through their family. 

Izuna had spent his whole life trying to keep up with the Ghost. Had known he couldn’t flinch. Not once.

But he had. And as he had always known would be his consequence, Tobirama had made him pay for it. 

The gap in his memory, between that moment on the battlefield and waking up in Tobirama’s care, was worrying to say the least. He had spent weeks worrying over it, worrying about what it meant, how it had happened, what could have possibly occurred to bring him into Tobirama’s custody? Tobirama never told him, or if he had, Izuna hadn’t been awake for it. But this hyper focus on the Senju’s motives, the memory of fear that had haunted him for so long, had blinded him to the truth. 

It _didn’t matter_ how he’d come to be in the Senju’s care. It mattered that the Senju was doing his best to help him. Help Izuna. Who had _hated_ him.

Because Tobirama was not who he had spent his whole life being afraid of. 

It would have been so much easier to believe that Tobirama was lying to him. That this was all one giant ruse. The supposed lie was too elaborate, too long lasting for it to be anything but the truth and that just made it so much worse. 

But for all his time dedicated to finding the Senju’s hidden motive, he could only conclude that it was _kindness_. Saving him would have served no purpose. None at all. Izuna had made his thoughts clear enough on the battlefield. No one could trust a Senju’s mercy. 

Yet he had enjoyed that mercy for months, and could still find no motive behind it.

Contrary to his long studied beliefs, Tobirama hadn’t looked at a world, at a battlefield, without Izuna defending his family and taken the opportunity to slaughter them without their defender. Hadn’t taken advantage of the hole Izuna no doubt left, and used it to suppress his family’s rivals once and for all. 

Instead, the foolish genius had used it for peace.

And worse, he’d narrated the whole process to his lucid, if unmoving, patient. Leaving Izuna to wrangle with the idea that he had spent his entire life being _lied to_. 

What if he’d let his brother accept the Senju’s offer for peace when that first bird had come in, rather than screaming at Madara for his idiotic trust. What if he’d given the Senju the option for mercy years ago, when Madara had become Clan Head? Would they have taken it? Would they have jumped at the chance for peace if Izuna had given them even an ounce of room to reach for it?

He was starting to think that Tobirama at least would have reached for it with both hands.

How many of their family would have still been alive if that had been the case?

But Izuna _hadn’t_. Had never given an inch. Had pushed his rival to hurt, to maim, to _kill_, and Izuna now knew, had to know and acknowledge that Tobirama had never wanted any of it. Despite the rumors of his unfeeling, his rival had likely hated every moment of battle. Had dreamed, like Madara had dreamed. Wanted to build things. Create things. Not destroy.

Izuna had refused to even see those things as a possibility. Had taken his rival at face value. And was wrong. 

(He wondered how many of those peace treaties the Senju brothers had collaborated on? How many had come from both Tobirama and Hashirama’s hands, merely dressed as a single man’s plea to a one-time childhood friend?)

If he’d seen sooner, if he’d been more open to the possibilities, how many lives could they have spared from dying for a useless war? 

How many of his kin had been denied seeing peace with their own two eyes? 

Izuna was the reason they had not. In his arrogance, for all his sight, he could not see. 

And that thought had swelled, hard and suffocating, the longer Tobirama was away. That the Uchiha had wasted years fighting for survival that had never been at stake. Fighting for nothing than to delay a mutually desired peace. 

If Tobirama died, if he never returned from this mission, if he never figured out how to get Izuna up and out of this bed, if Izuna never got a chance to apologize for that-

Izuna never thought that he might die without his honor. It seemed impossible for him to deny now that it was nowhere to be seen. If he had ever had it at all. 

There would never be anything that Izuna regretted more than not accepting the hand that the Senju and his brother had offered the very first moment it was extended. 

-

“You look tired.”

Madara felt tired. The bombardment of never ending tasks was near endless. There was hardly time to sleep. It had taken him less than a week to realize that he needed to mobilize half of the Uchiha’s best administrators to come and _help_.

He had been more than a little surprised at the resistance he had found. Everywhere he’d gone, he’d found people more bewildered to see him than welcoming. It could not be more plain that Hikaku had been right, that Madara had absented himself for too long, but he had been somewhat surprised at the effect it had had. His own people didn’t know what to say to him anymore. Some were overly obliging, some tried to pretend that they weren’t startled to see him, and yet others, others had paused, hesitated. They did what he asked, of course they did, but Madara could feel it, could feel them wonder, just for a moment if he would back up his command. 

Once, his word had been law among the Uchiha. That had slipped, obviously. 

He wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. He had never led the Uchiha outside of a time of war. Once, he would only have needed to reinforce his authority through his prowess on the battlefield. For it was strength and strength alone that ruled the Uchiha. 

Now, he had helped to create a world where that was no longer necessary.

He didn’t regret it, not for one moment, but he hadn’t yet decided how to address the problem, what new precedence he wished to set. 

But if one more person asked “Where is Hikaku?” when he approached them with orders, he would not be held responsible for his actions.

And that didn’t take into account the fact that, insofar as Madara could discern, _none_ of his clan had any idea what they were doing, himself included. He had to learn in a week all that Tobirama had spent months doing, and he was woefully unprepared. 

“I am tired,” he said, acknowledging Hashirama’s statement with the blandness it deserved. 

“You should rest then,” said the hypocrite, as if it wasn’t two in the morning and the Hokage was still at his desk. This was the first time they’d found a moment to speak alone since Tobirama had left the week before. 

“There too is much to do,” was all he had to say.

“As I tell my brother often, it is nothing that won’t keep until tomorrow. You need to rest.”

Once, Madara would have believed him. 

Now, after having been overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of responsibilities, he recognized the fallacy of that statement. Everything left for tomorrow compounded with every hour it was left to the wayside. And worse, there would be new problems to override whatever he hadn’t finished. 

And each thing he forgot in the chaos left him feeling, and looking, like a failure. 

That very afternoon, a civilian woman had been left standing for _hours_, waiting for someone to hear her. She had apparently been in the tower since dawn, wringing her hands, waiting, watching as shinobi after shinobi, diplomat and elder shoved their way to the front of her for his attention. She had waited until nearly dusk before finally cutting in on an Aburame’s progress report on the agricultural progress, bowing profusely, apologizing.

_“-but it is almost time for dinner service and we have nothing to serve.”_

_“What- who are you?” he’d asked, having never seen the plain faced woman before him in his life._

_She bowed again, but the Aburame clearly knew her._

_“Madara-sama, may I introduce Negumi-san. She runs the soup kitchen.”_

_“Soup kitchen?” he asked, but was ignored as the Aburame, brow furrowed, continued._

_“Did you not receive the donation from my clan?”_

_“We did, Aburame-san, but it is a supplement. We used the last of it yesterday, waiting for regular supply, but it never arrived…”_

_And then she looked to Madara. Who still had no idea what she was talking about._

_The Aburame took pity on him, expressionless behind the high collar of his coat. _

_“Tobirama-sama founded a soup kitchen to distribute food from Konohagakure’s stores to the poor and those looking to make a new life here. All of the clans contribute, but the communal stores appear to make up the bulk of their supplies.”_

_“Yes,” the woman confirmed with a nod. “But the main shipment hasn't come for three days now. We have nothing left, and people have been waiting all day. We have nothing to feed them.”_

Madara hadn’t even known. And her dozens of pleas and requests had been there, buried on his desk. Left for tomorrow and then buried by tomorrow. 

And Madara had looked like an idiot. Again. In front of his office full of representatives from half the village. 

“It won’t actually,” he finally told Hashirama, “And you know it.”

Hashirama sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. 

“I do,” his friend acknowledged, more somber than Madara had ever remembered seeing him, even on the battlefield. In the face of the week they had both had, he was unsurprised, especially in the face of how Hashirama continued, “There doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the day.”

He leveled a look at Madara. 

“No,” Madara hummed. There was only one thing he could have meant, and it was the question that had plagued Madara since he began attempting to take over Tobirama’s duties. How on earth had the Ghost managed even half of it?

“Taking up my brother’s duties has been more demanding than I think we expected.”

“Ha!” Madara said, but even that sounded weary. “More like impossible.”

“Apparently not.”

_Unless._

“Without _help_, you mean,” Madara said.

Hashirama’s eyes felt like a physical weight across the space.

“Leave us,” he commanded. The guards scattered around the shadows of the office, by the door, on the roof outside, obedient to their oaths and duty, obeyed without a word, closing the door and windows in their wake.

The privacy seals Hashirama had laid himself flared to life with only minor encouragement. 

Hashirama stood, and crossed to the closed window to look out to the darkened horizon.

“I love my brother,” Hashirama began, “but he has always been different from me. Smarter, more rational, less kind. And he has always been a better organizer. But I have never, not once, had cause to doubt his loyalty.”

“... Are we sure that you do now?” Madara asked.

And Hashirama smiled over his shoulder at him, not proud, but resigned, as if to thank him for trying, but Madara was surprised to find how much he meant it. 

“No,” Hashirama admitted. “But if there is another solution, I’ve not found it. Either we must be missing something, or Tobirama has a vested interest in ensuring we both look dangerously incapable.”

Madara personally thought it was much more likely to be the former than the latter, but then, he was used to Tobirama being a mystery. 

“It seems like an incredible amount of work to simply make us look inept by comparison,” Madara mused.

“Perhaps. Unless, as you said, he has help.”

“You said it yourself that your brother doesn’t appeal to the masses,” argued Madara back, changing tactic. The whole thing seemed so ridiculous the more they spoke of it. 

Tobirama wasn’t a traitor. Madara had looked for the signs for months and hadn’t found any. Had instead found someone who seemed just as invested in the village as anyone else, more so, even. The complaints against him that Madara had seen with his own eyes seemed out of place. Not because Madara had any trouble believing that Tobirama was capable of the actions contained within them, but Madara hadn’t seen that behavior anywhere but the battlefield.

And they were incongruous with what he had actually witnessed. 

But which was the lie?

Sighing heavily, Hashirama looked back out the window into the night.

“Apparently, I was incorrect,” Hashirama admitted. “It’s hardly clear cut. It seems like this village can’t agree on anything, my brother included,” he sounded so heartbroken about it. “Perhaps we’ve moved too fast, grown too quickly.”

“No,” Madara disagreed. “The idea has spread quickly because it is a _good_ one. A necessary one.”

In this, at least, he was absolutely certain. 

“You’re right,” conceded Hashirama as he turned and returned to his desk. “Still, it doesn’t answer what to do about Tobirama.”

“Who’s to say we need to do anything?”

Hashirama looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“Every one of my advisors, that’s who.”

“All of them?”

That was odd in and of itself. 

“I assure you that I have heard from nearly every single elder in my clan and at least half from the other clans. I spend more time placating them than I do working.”

Madara thought about mentioning that such a trial would definitely count as working, but their current conversation was too important to sidetrack. 

He crossed his arms. “Why are you even bothering to placate them? It’s none of their business how we run this village.”

Hashirama sighed from deep in his soul as if Madara was being the unreasonable one. “It’s _obviously_ their business. They have a say.”

“I don’t see why. It’s not like any of them are doing anything useful to help.”

Glaring, actually glaring at him across the space, Hashirama countered. “You don’t think their concerns that Tobirama is going to _usurp_ me are worth being mentioned.”

The words rang out across the quiet space. Words having gone unsaid for so long shook the floor with their resonance, seeming to take both of them by surprise. Neither of them had _wanted_ to say it.

Months ago, in this very office, Madara had spat that very accusation across the room at Hashirama. Then, it had been Hashirama denying, refusing to even acknowledge the possibility. Now, it wasn’t Hashirama who took the step back and threw up a guard.

“You don’t really believe that possible,” Madara stated like it was a fact, but Hashirama threw up his hands in frustration.

“I don’t know what else to think! He sneaks around behind my back, currying favor with my political opponents, making a consistent _enemy_ of your clan even after he promised he would not, and now this entire disaster seemed orchestrated to watch me fail! The whole village is about to tear itself in two-”

“You were the one who sent him out of the village-”

“And he’s done nothing but sew more discord!”

“Hashirama, stop.”

Never have guessed a year ago that he would be defending Tobirama to Hashirama of all people. From the look on his friend’s face, Hashirama hadn’t either, and he wasn’t particularly pleased. But they were moving too quickly. A shinobi, a leader of anything really, should never move too quickly, and should take care not to be afraid of his own shadow, lest he over-extend and show his hand precipitously. Madara’s father had taught him that, and he knew the lesson was written on Hashirama’s soul. Madara had carved some of that message there himself during their years at war.

But now was no time to dwell. Instead, he paused for a breath, and gave his words the weight they deserved, “Tobirama is your brother.”

“I am aware,” Hashirama interrupted, but Madara ignored him.

“And as such, you can _not_ make any move without proof, and you know it.”

Finally, _finally_, Hashirama unwound, sighed as though his strings had been cut. His head was bowed in a way that it never should have been. Hashirama had been happy, indomitable, their entire lives. Madara didn’t know what to do with this exhausted shell of his friend. 

“But what if I investigate and I _do_ find proof?” Hashirama whispered into the dark, “Then what?” 

Madara had no answer for him anymore.

“I don’t know.”

-

“Show me again where the Nara’s have settled?” 

Hanami watched the white-haired Senju lean forward and trace the area with a long, callused finger. After nearly two weeks of meeting with him several times a day, she could confidently say she liked the other man. He was plain-speaking, occasionally straying towards rude, but irrefutably dedicated and hard-working. 

Her cousin Asahi might mumble about Tobirama’s apparent pride (perhaps, she thought privately, his own personal experience with that particular vice made him more observant of it in others) but so far the only pride she had witnessed was well-earned.

On first impression, once she knew who he was, he had seemed both more and less than she expected. Word of Uchiha Izuna’s death had travelled around the world, dead at Senju Tobirama’s hand. Izuna had killed at least a dozen of her Hyuuga kin in combat. Therefore, his killer would undoubtedly be a fearsome force to be reckoned with. When presented with that killer, rather than the hurricane she had expected, he had seemed diminished somehow. Tired. More so than half a week of travel should have left him. 

Conversely, he had been more than just that killer. He was eloquent. And determined. One conversation with him was enough to tell her that he would not be dismissed. But more than that, he was humble, and understanding of their concerns, putting forward answers to arguments against the peace before she could even voice them. 

It was like a good game of _shogi_, and for once she found a mind anticipating as far ahead as she was.

“Here,” he answered, circling the area to the south of the rocky plains claimed by the Akamichi. “They have retained their claim to some of the forests to the south, as these were already their family lands.” 

No mention was made of them being contested, as everyone knew they had been for years, one of many concessions made in striving for _peace_.

What a word. 

“Hmm,” she answered.

This was the first time she had asked after specifics to the Village itself, had shown any interest in the specifics of how the Hyuuga moving to Konoha might actually work. To have done so before would have been precipitous. The Hyuuga had no need to negotiate a new home among the Leaf if they had no intention of moving, but slowly, surely, she felt her people’s will moving beneath her to be more in line with the man across from her.

She wasn’t the only one he’d impressed. 

“And where would you recommend for the Hyuuga, if we were to relocate?”

He was too good to show the victory she was sure he felt at her admission of the possibility, and kept his face blank.

“Here,” he said, pointing to an area by the main waterways, close to the center of everything, near the planned hospital, academies, markets. Prime real estate. “We would be more than willing to make any alterations to the terrain that you would require. In particular, I was thinking of diverting this eastern canal here, with a slight weir to create a lake.”

Ah, so he’d recognized the significance of their mountain lake. No doubt had recognized their affinity for _suiton_ jutsu, rare in the Land of Fire, but it was more than that. The still waters reflecting the mountain peaks were part of their identity.

“Training grounds?” she asked.

“You are more than welcome to include a dojo in your planning, and we would be willing to add on these back ten acres into your allotment, to be used as you see fit. Of course, we will be more than happy to negotiate further. Also, there are plans for extensive public training grounds to the west and south,” he said, gesturing.

“I see,” she said, and she did. 

The Hyuuga compound was their home. Her family’s roots went as deep as the mountains beneath them, but they were a cold kind of comfort. Up here, removed from the troubles of the world, they were also removed from the benefits of a cosmopolitan society. Their philosophy withered. Their stock withered. Their client base looked further and further from them to greener pastures, ones that were easier to get to. The mountains brought them peace, but isolation. 

Times were changing, winds turning, and the Hyuuga were no longer braced to face them. 

Perhaps a place among the leaves would better suit them.

“It would be best if we dispatched a contingent of Hyuuga to inspect the proposed grounds and better foresee any obstacles,” she said, looking him dead in the eye.

His face didn’t change, but she could see that he understood. The Hyuuga were being swayed. This would be the final hurdle.

“We would be honored to host them,” he said.

“Very well. I will send my heiress, Haruhi, to inspect the situation.”

The councillors lining the room around them broke into mutters, but she silenced them with the slightest raise of her eyebrows, just in time to hear Haruhi beside her ask, “Okaa-sama?”

She looked over her right shoulder to where her eldest had sat throughout the negotiations. That her eldest had lived long enough to blossom into a powerful woman in her own right was something her own mother and father hadn’t managed. Hanami had watched her siblings fall before her, one honorably in battle, the other to a disease that had taken him too swiftly. By the time she was Haruhi’s age, she was all that was left of her family. 

The burden of rule had been sudden and crushing. It was time that Haruhi learned to shoulder it while she still had time to grow accustomed to it. 

“Your eyes are the best in the clan. I am sure they will serve well and true in the place of my own. After all, this decision affects the future of our clan,” she looked into the lilac eyes her daughter had been gifted. “You are that future. Do your duty to your clan...”

Her daughter had never left home before, had been sheltered for long enough, but there was a hint of fear written in the lines of her eyes, well hidden to others, but not to her mother. 

That wouldn’t do. Hanami let herself smile, and continued. “... and to your mother, who has every faith in you.”

Haruhi swallowed, and bowed her submission.

“In that case,” Tobirama interrupted at the appropriate moment. “In the spirit of cooperation and the peace we are seeking to build, I would offer these to allow for easier communication between you.”

Reaching into his pocket, he brought out the little red book Hanami had become quite familiar with, and quietly lusted after. One book to hold an entire library. It was a priceless wonder. 

The Senju pulled out of it two scrolls, and laid them both open on the table between them. They were bordered with elaborate seals the likes of which Hanami had never seen, but the middle of them, the primary space for most seal work, was empty.

“I invented these scrolls to function in pairs and provide instant communication between one another. The seals facilitate a link between both. What is written on one, will appear on the other.”

Hanami couldn’t help it. She leaned in to take a better look, activating her byakugan. The seals on the paper glowed quietly with latent chakra. Interlocking matrices woven together and alive under her eyes, revealing the layers of complexity beneath what was written.

She observed the face of the man across from her at the same time, her byakugan painting his face clearly without her having to look up. 

Invented, he’d said. 

So, the genius part of his reputation was well-earned as well. She wondered if the red book was his as well, and what it might mean to be in the same village as a man who gave away such wonders as mere bargaining tools. Or was this gift meant to symbolize what it meant to ally with Konohagakure. If so, it was a masterful stroke.

“May I?” she asked, lifting her _fude_ brush from where it sat at the ready.

He nodded, but warned, “The space is limited. Once written, whatever said cannot be erased.”

So, she tipped just the tip of her brush into the ink and dabbed it onto the corner of the scroll. There was just the slightest flare of chakra flowing from the perimeter seals onto the wet ink before it appeared, equally wet on the other scroll.

Genius.

Hanami took both of them, waiting briefly for the ink to dry before she rolled them back up into their innocuous form. She tucked one into her kimono top and bowed to Tobirama. 

“Thank you for this priceless gift. We are most grateful,” she said, and handed the matching scroll to Haruhi behind her, who accepted it with equal wonder.

Tobirama, excellent sense of timing showing, bowed back and stood, his Uchiha shadow a second behind him. Uchiha Hikaku likely didn’t know it, but he embodied many of her family’s fears. The Senju’s reputation was not as close to the Hyuuga as the Uchiha’s, but everyone from the mountains of Earth to seas of the Water had heard of Hashirama and Madara’s fight to the death. The Uchiha were unpredictable. A majority of the Clan had rebelled against their own Clan Head to force him to accept peace, and then been allowed to rejoin the Clan once more after. Such a thing would never have been tolerated by the Hyuuga. That kind of inconsistency indicated a shaky foundation.

However, the Uchiha’s heir was steadfast in his support and subordination to Tobirama. He clearly had a great amount of respect for the Senju, and as that was shared by the Hyuuga, it along with his impressive declaration of intent when they arrived could be the foundation for the rebuilding of trust between their long feuding clans.

And Haruhi liked him. Her daughter was an excellent judge of character. Hanami had no cause to doubt her now.

“You are most welcome. I am sure you have much to discuss. We shall take our leave,” Tobirama said. He and Hikaku bowed and left.

He was right. She could feel the councilors, her uncles and aunts, great uncles and great aunts, cousins first through third, all with opinions just waiting to be unleashed on her. 

She grinned. Nothing she couldn’t handle. She was almost looking forward to it. 

-

Hikaku had spent the last two weeks around a table with Tobirama, and it had been more than a revelation. The Senju was nothing like what Hikaku had expected. Even after arriving at the Hyuuga compound with what he thought was an open mind, the mercurial Senju had shifted, phased through, every expectation. 

That Senju Tobirama hated the Uchiha was a given. But he’d defended one, called them honorable, shared his wisdom and his table with one. Those actions did not speak of hate, but respect. Wasn’t that an odd thought? 

That Senju Tobirama didn’t support the peace was well known. Hikaku had heard a hundred rumors about how the younger Senju didn’t plan to support his elder brother’s bid for the leadership of the village. Or worse, planned to outwardly oppose Hashirama for the role. The conservative war-mongers looked to him as a leader in their cause. Tobirama was only biding his time, but would no doubt strike and dismantle the peace as soon as he was able. Convinced that the village would fail, Tobirama clearly refused to put the same effort into building it that others, more dedicated to the peace did. He had shucked off dozens of projects, refusing to dirty his hands for a fallacy.

That man was not the same one Hikaku watched pour over plans for every aspect of said village at all hours of the night. 

Far from neglected, Hikaku had never seen anyone take to a task with such dedication. Far from disinterested, Tobirama had filled up dozens of scrolls with village plans for dozens of projects, far beyond what his supposed focus on the Village defenses should entail. 

The plans and scope of Tobirama’s efforts seemed limitless. From plans for massive road constructions to cut through the Land of Fire's thick forests, to the agricultural network they were meant to support. There were plans to continue to expand the existing infrastructure and utilities, and laying out shared training facilities for the village. Tobirama even had plans for extending civil services, like a shinobi academy open to all children of the village to ensure their proper education, and ensuring the hospital always acquired the latest equipment from across the continent. He’d founded a soup kitchen which he kept supplied and set up housing for the migrant poor that were already gravitating to Konoha at an alarming rate, and an orphanage for those the wars had left nothing at all. Even the monks had sought Tobirama’s assistance in founding shrines for worship throughout the village.

Most things, Hikaku hadn't even _considered_, much less had any plans for how to actually achieve them. Like the school. Only civilians went to schools. Shinobi learned their family’s trade. But when Tobirama explained it, a unified curriculum to help establish the standardization of shinobi ranks, which could be supplemented by familial specialities, it made perfect sense. Not just in establishing the fundamentals that every Konoha shinobi should know, but it would also serve as a method of socializing the clans into seeing each other as equals. The synergy born from growing and working together with those who would become lifelong allies was inevitable.

_“So that the children can learn and grow together and foster a community based on cooperation and trust.”_

It all made Hikaku feel _lazy_ in comparison. He had been so focused on keeping the Uchiha afloat that he had _missed_ the true scale of what was going on around him. They all had. Konoha wasn't about protecting a single clan anymore, but about protecting _all_ of the clans who had joined their futures together. And if no one else would look to the future with him, then Tobirama, it seemed, was trying to build that future from the ground up by his damned self.

It was kind of incredible. And baffling.

In the wake of finally understanding the scale of Tobirama’s direct involvement with the minutiae of the village’s existence, Hikaku didn't understand how so many people had so fundamentally misunderstood him. Why did nearly everyone think that Tobirama resented the peace? Hikaku couldn’t think of anyone doing more to foster it.

And for that matter, what was everyone else doing to get the village off and running? What was Hashirama doing? Madara? The clans who had joined? Was it possible that they too were looking solely to their own families? 

What kind of village would Konohagakure be, composed of disparate clans bound together by proximity only without the infrastructure and institutions to unite them? To Hikaku’s eyes, Tobirama was forging a lasting peace almost single handedly (or trying to at least.). How was it possible that he was able to be in so many places at once? 

It bore further examination when they returned to Konohagakure. He needed to get to the heart of these rumors.

It was clear to him now that someone, or many someones were trying to ruin the man and his reputation. 

But there were other aspects of Tobirama’s character that Hikaku found just as startling after enduring (enjoying) his close proximity for the last few weeks. 

Tobirama had proved to be a fount of information, and he gave it _freely_. Hikaku had thought himself well versed in the ninja arts, but Tobirama had taught him more in the last two weeks than he had learned in years. The Senju answered every question patiently and proficiently. Whether it be about chakra theory, taijutsu techniques, meditation methodology, foreign affairs, diplomacy, strategy, everything. It seemed like there was nothing the other man had not studied. Hikaku imagined it was like having a sage to dinner every night. 

Which is why Hikaku thought nothing of asking him about the communication scrolls he had just revealed on their way back to their rooms.

“How do they work?” he asked. Tobirama looked over to him in askance, so he clarified, “The scrolls.”

Tobirama eyed him sideways briefly, gauging, as usual, his interest. Assured of it, he still hesitated.

“It’s complicated,” said the man, sounding dismissive.

Hikaku had guessed that. What about the man wasn’t complicated?

“I imagine so,” Hikaku assured mildly. 

He didn’t take back the question, though. Tobirama, glancing at him once more to assure himself that, yes, Hikaku was truly interested, hummed before beginning, also as usual, with a question of his own. “How familiar are you with the concepts of spacetime and the theory of bends in spacetime?”

Familiar now with the flow of these conversations, Hikaku admitted his own lack of knowledge, this time with a shrug.

“Theory of special relativity?” Tobirama tried next, not sounding hopeful.

Hikaku shook his head, rueful, and watched as Tobirama crossed his arms, his strides lengthening as he went into what Hikaku privately thought of as his ‘teacher mode’. Grinning, he increased his pace to match, and settled in to listen.

“The theory of relativity,” Tobirama began, “states that time is experienced differently by objects moving at different speeds. For example, the laws of motion show that velocity is only measurable in comparison. Imagine you are standing in a field and you watch a cart pass down the road. It is moving and you are not. Therefore, the difference between your two states, stationary and moving, determines the cart’s speed. However, if you were also on the road walking in the towards the cart, it would appear to be approaching you faster than if you were standing still. But, if you were in a cart moving alongside the other cart at the same pace, it would not appear to be going fast at all. Rather, in the two carts moving at the same speed, neither you nor your neighbor would perceive yourself to be moving. Therefore, speed is only able to be determined by opposing it to something else. This is an easily understandable principle.”

“Easily understandable,” Hikaku agreed, not rushing, just showing that he understood. He’d never tried to put the concept into words, as Tobirama seemed able to, but the principle was something he encountered in his daily life.

Tobirama, likewise, didn’t take offense, just continued. “The speed of light, however, is constant, no matter the relative speed of other objects. This is a fundamental of the universe. So, imagine the cart again, but now it is flying by you at close to the speed of light. As it passes, two bolts of lightning hit the field on either side of you. Even though the cart is moving, the light will reach the man in the cart at the same velocity as it reaches you in the field, even though, logically, the light from the bolt closest to the moving person should reach him first because he is moving and you are not. But it does not. You witness it at the same moment, despite the relative differences of your speed.”

By this point, they had left the main keep, and were halfway across the main courtyard. Tobirama paused to return the bow of the Hyuuga Elder Saikiro, Hikaku doing so a moment after him. He hadn’t even noticed the other man, so engrossed in trying to visualize what Tobirama was telling him. 

The Senju didn’t mention his lapse, instead, once the Hyuuga Elder had moved past them, continued his explanation.

“So, either the laws of relative motion are incorrect, or the speed of light is not constant. This absurdity is reckoned with the understanding that _time_ is the variable. If time is variable, it must have its own dimension, one that is manipulated by velocity. This, I feel, will be easily understood in light of the _sharingan’s_ ability as you have described it.”

“How so?” Hikaku asked, lost by the sudden shift to his _dojutsu_.

“The _sharingan_ manipulates time, and how you, the user, experience it. It appears to slow time itself, allowing the user to anticipate and react to things that have not yet happened.”

Hikaku had never really thought of it that way. The _sharingan_ felt natural, normal. It didn’t _feel_ like time was slowing, just that he was moving faster.

Oh.

“I see,” Hikaku said, because suddenly he did.

“Your eyes allow you to bend spacetime, extending the amount of time that passes between an event and when you observe it. Light is still traveling at the same speed, but the distance it must travers is increased due to the bend created, so it only _seems_ slower to you. This principle is called time dilation, and it proves that the universe is bound together by spacetime, and also that the fabric of spacetime can be bent by outside forces.”

Hikaku nodded thoughtfully. He thought he might understand, but even if he was feeling a little lost, he didn’t want to stop Tobirama now.

“The most observable force that impacts spacetime is gravity. Objects thrown with speed will fall back to earth on a curved vector, the arc of which is determined by the speed with which it is thrown. Theoretically, if you throw a kunai fast enough, it should be able to follow that arc continually and fall in perpetuity. If you _could_ throw a kunai fast enough that it follows the curvature of the earth, it should, thoredically, never hit the ground, following along the curves in the fabric of spacetime to fall forever.”

They had, by then, arrived at their rooms. Tobirama went immediately to the low table and knelt there, picking up his running record of his meetings with Hanami. Hikaku sat in his usual spot across from him, still enraptured as Tobirama continued his explanation while writing down the meeting notes, like everyone could manage to keep track of two seperate trains of thought easily enough to recall a conversation they’d had an hour ago, and explain complex theoretical realities of the world. Hikaku was used to it by now, but it was still impressive. 

“However, if gravity is the factor that defines the curvature of spacetime, then, logically it is the force which your _sharingan_ must manipulate in order to create the required bends. Gravity manipulation is not otherwise unheard of. There are ninja in the Land of Earth that are able to manipulate gravity to such a degree that they can free themselves from its grip and even create wrinkles in the spacetime fabric to be in two places at once. 

“It is this principle that I used in the creation of the scrolls. The seals provide anchor points in space, and also force the reality of time to bend so drastically around those anchors that what is in one place appears to be in two. In effect, there is a perpetual tunnel between these two separate points through spacetime, but they are inexorably connected. Technically, I suppose, the ink is actually moving so quickly from one to the other that it is unobservable. The rest of the seals are stabilizers to keep them from being obliterated by the force necessary to break gravity’s hold.”

Sage. Hikaku had never dedicated so much thought to anything, much less something so far beyond what he could easily see and observe himself. 

Tobirama didn’t even have a _sharingan_ to study in person. The implications of his understanding were radical. Hikaku hadn’t ever thought much about how his _dojutsu_ worked, only that it did, but Tobirama seemed to not only understand the ‘why’ behind the phenomena of his own eyes, but he could explain them, even to Hikaku. It was mind-blowing, and awe-invoking. Hikaku’s mind raced with the possibilities Tobirama’s understanding could produce with a shinobi dedicated enough to take advantage of them. 

“So, in theory, could you use those seals to teleport people rather than ink?” he guessed.

Tobirama shook his head without looking up from his writing. It was well over a foot long now. “No,” he disagreed. “The seal required for that is much more closely tied to the user’s chakra and physical self. To try and move along a bend in spacetime, or through a wrinkle with a divergent anchor point from their own chakra would be too destabilizing to the user’s form. Likely, the transition would kill any living organism.”

“I see…” Hikaku said, trailing off before he fully comprehended what the Senju was telling him, then, “Wait, does that mean you have actually attempted such a seal?”

Nodding, Tobirama said absently, “It is the principles on which the _hiraishin_ is based, though that, again, is slightly more layered.”

“_Hiraishin_?” Hikaku asked. He had never heard of such a jutsu, but knowing Tobirama as he did now, it was likely another of his own inventions.

The albino pulled out a kunai and showed it to him. On the handle, Hikaku could see a tiny, intricate seal containing many of the same seal marks that he had seen linearly on the scrolls earlier.

“With something like this, the change in physical spacetime can become near instantaneous. My chakra in the seals calls to the chakra in my body. Like a lightning rod, I can jump to my own chakra through a bend in spacetime, without overly compromising my physical form. It requires immense focus and sensing ability, but, in battle, I can do it more than twenty times, if necessary, if I have a waypoint.”

Sudden, terrible enlightenment crashed over Hikaku. He looked up at the man, seated so composed across from him, and suddenly could see nothing but Tobirama’s sword slicing through Izuna as he appeared before Hikaku’s cousin in an instant not even the _sharingan_ could perceive.

"That’s how you did it,” he said, voice distant. “That’s how you killed Izuna.”

Eyes somber, giving nothing away, Tobirama nodded.

All of the sudden, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Hikaku was standing, shaking the table as his knees knocked it in his haste. In the weeks, in the shifting of his own perspective, somehow the fact that this man had killed Izuna, a man Hikaku had counted as a brother, had been buried underneath his burgeoning respect for the Senju. 

It rushed to the surface again, overwhelming. He didn’t mean to, but his _sharingan_ blazed to life and burned the image of the man across from him sitting, waiting, looking him right in his dangerous eyes, and Hikaku wanted to kill him for it. Rage, the likes of which he had never experienced called for the Senju’s blood, wanted to suck the Senju into a dimension of pain and teach him the meaning of suffering. 

But the feeling broke as quickly as it had come, and Hikaku felt ill with the thought of what he had nearly done to a man he had grown to respect and trust. 

He had to get out of here. 

He didn’t even notice when he’d left the room, left the building, headed down and out the pathed steps to the outer bailey and the main gates. The Hyuuga he passed nodded to him, but didn’t impede him, a marked improvement from the ferocious eyes that had watched him like a hawk when they’d first arrived, and he knew the change had more to do with Tobirama’s efforts then his own. 

The front gates opened for him and he left the castle, finding his way through the pines and lantern shrines, down the forest paths to the rocky shore of the lake below. 

There, he let himself just breathe.

Hikaku had never been more conflicted than he had been in the days after Izuna’s death. The Uchiha had stood at a crossroads. Hikaku was aware that the eyes within his clan had looked to him to take Izuna’s place as Tobirama’s opponent; but the other man had killed Izuna, who Hikaku had never, not once, beaten in a spar. He felt his clan look between him and the Senju demon, and lose hope.

He had been angry, grieving, after Izuna’s death, but also so damn tired of watching his family die. When Hashirama defeated Madara, even when his murderous ghost of a brother standing with a sword raised over their Clan Head’s chest, ready to mercilessly execute him, Hikaku could only watch and wait.

That man, that monster, was not the same man Hikaku had come to know.

Tobirama had lost brothers he’d loved. He’d grieved for them as much as Hikaku had grieved for Izuna, was still grieving for them.

He had become a teacher to Hikaku. A man he’d come to trust deeply, in a way that would be near impossible to break, but-

It hurt. That this man he’d come to trust had killed his cousin. 

He tried to summon the old resentment, the rage that had gripped him minutes ago but all he found was an empty, hollow feeling that he should be ashamed.

Ashamed for his reaction? Or ashamed for his lack of following it through? Hikaku wasn’t sure. 

Tobirama was Izuna’s killer. Was it right to let bygones be bygones, or was Izuna’s ghost languishing unavenged? Was Izuna’s death a murder, like the raging child buried inside him wanted to believe, or was it the justifyed karma of a duel well fought?

Did it even matter? In the face of the man he had come to know, was the phantom of the heartless killer he’d always imagined Tobirama to be even possible? Could that monster hold a candle to the real man that Tobirama was? 

No. No it couldn’t.

Besides, what was the point of peace, of Konohagakure itself, if he could not look past Izuna’s death to the brighter future at their feet?

That didn’t make it easy.

Sighing, Hikaku pulled his staff, Senpuu, off his back. The name meant whirlwind, for its speed, but Hikaku couldn’t help but feel how it mimicked the turmoil in his heart. He didn’t even remember grabbing his staff on the way out, but he was glad for the familiar weight of it in his hand. Spinning it slowly, he was unhappy to realize that his inner equilibrium was well and truly unbalanced. 

He sat on the rocks, allowing Senpuu to rest behind his knee and on his shoulder as he crossed his legs. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes.

He’d meditated more in the last few weeks than he had in years. Tobirama’s lessons on chakra theory had seemed straightforward, but the reality of trying to stretch himself beyond his affinity for fire had been every bit as difficult as the notion of it being completely impossible had made it sound. He had spent two solid days meditating just trying to feel out the difference between pure chakra and when he’d let his affinity bleed into the jutsus he was moulding. And it was still a work in progress.

Then there was the entirely counter intuitive order that Tobirama insisted was necessary in order to learn the other affinities. The cycle of affinities went Fire then Wind then Lightning then Earth then Water, and back to Fire in a circle. That much of Hikaku’s teaching had been corroborated by Tobirama. Each augmented forward and was canceled from behind. So, logically, Wind techniques would not only increase the power of his _katon_, but should also be easiest to reach for, as it was the next step in the circle.

Logically, as a Fire user, he thought to reach for Wind, to observe the passage of air between his lungs. 

But that, as it turned out, was not correct according to Tobirama.

_“To go forward, you must go back.”_

_“... What?”_

_“Remember the fundamentality of balance. It is easiest to work backwards from where you begin. The cancellation of say, Fire versus Water is a literal expression of two equal and opposite forces balancing each other out. Therefore, it is in your habitual weakness that you will find the most likely success.”_

_That didn’t make any sense and he said so._

_“Hmm. Go back to the river metaphor. Is it easiest to divert a river from the source, where it is weakest, before the subsidiary flows have joined, or down river towards the mouth, where the current and volume are at their strongest?”_

_“At the source.”_

_“Correct. So, trying to force your chakra into the affinity most similar to your own is like trying to change the course of an arrow in flight. Better to turn the bow. Starting with the affinity most dissimilar to Water was the only way I found success. From there you must continue backwards around the circle.”_

_Hikaku was sure his face was as incredulous as he felt. Tobirama’s smirk only made him all the more frustrated. _

_“Most people think like you, and try to go forward. They want the augment to what they already have and when they find no success there, they give up. But balance, as with yin and yang chakra, is the only way to achieve the harmony between elements necessary for mastery.”_

So, now, sitting on the edge of a giant, calm lake, so opposite his own affinity’s tumultuous nature, he reached down deep and tried to feel. 

It didn’t go particularly well. More and more, his mind went back to the man who had shared priceless information carelessly over rice, who Hikaku was realizing he likely owed an apology. The more he thought about it, thought back to the way that Tobirama had fearlessly met his eyes, knowing full well their power, the more the look on the Senju’s face felt rather like resignation. It was the same look he’d had when he refused to let Hikaku apologize for Saito, and it left a dangerously bitter taste in the Uchiha’s mouth.

How long would they all have to pay for the shared sin of war?

Heaving a heavy sigh, he dropped his hands from the _inu_ seal he’d held for who knows how long, feeling only marginally better but no closer to success then when he’d begun.

“You look deep in thought.”

Hikaku looked up, startled to find the Hyuuga heiress, Haruhi, looking down at him, her pale eyes kind and the bemused smile he had come to associate with her on her face. She had her hair tied up high today. It looked nice.

Haruhi had shadowed them during the entirety of their visit, their official guide and unofficial guard, he suspected. But she was calm and in perpetual good humor. With all the stress, tension, and general feeling of walking on eggshells that defined this mission, she was an easy conversation partner. She’d even shared a few of her poetry books, and he found her taste there solidly in line with his own. 

After two weeks, he could hesitantly call her his friend, even if by virtue that she was the only one who really talked to him, excepting Tobirama. 

The Uchiha were a tight knit, and very social group among their own. Hikaku wasn’t used to having so few people to share his time with. He was glad she had interrupted his thoughts before he’d begun well and truly brooding. 

“I’m trying to meditate on my chakra affinities,” he admitted with a sigh. “It’s not going well.”

She hummed and sat down next to him, heedless of getting her white hakama dirty.

“You Uchiha are Fire users, right?” she asked.

Nodding, he said, “For the most part. There are a few lightning users as well, but all of us learn our clan’s _katon_ jutsus fairly early.”

“They’re very impressive, from what your last ambassador showed us,” she replied. She sounded teasing, but he could tell she was waiting to measure his response. 

“They can be,” he said neutrally, well aware of the politely worded trap. “But having such a defined niche can put us at a disadvantage. Tobirama’s _suiton_ jutsus could cancel out the best of them, so I’m trying to diversify.”

She tilted her head, her long brown hair swaying in its tie with the motion. 

“Diversify?” she asked.

Hikaku nodded. “Tobirama can do jutsus with all five elements.” 

He glanced over to her, and was unsurprised to find her wide eyed.

“I know,” he concurred. “I didn’t think it was possible either. He explained it like a river, that chakra pathways become more ingrained over time, but that they can be rerouted. I’m trying to figure it out.”

“A river, huh?” she looked thoughtful. “But I thought that you infuse normal jutsus with elemental chakra to do elemental ninjutsu. How can you change the nature of your elemental chakra?”

Shaking his head, Hikaku tried to explain what had been frustrating him for weeks. “There’s apparently no such thing. All chakra is the same, but how it is gathered and utilized is different. There’s yin and yang chakra, which is the same but one is gathered from the body and the other from the mind. The yin chakra from the mind is easier to make elemental.”

She only looked more confused. Which was fair, considering he realized how badly he was explaining this. Feeling a little bashful, he sighed a bit, and rubbed a soothing hand up and down Senpuu. “You’d be better asking Tobirama. He’s much better at explaining things than I am.”

“I don’t know,” she said, leaning back on her hands stretched behind her. “He’s kind of intimidating. I don’t think I would ask him.”

That was fair, he supposed. The Senju cut a striking figure in his full blue armor, face guard, white hair, and vibrant, blood red lines highlighting the severity of his face. Still…

“I thought so too,” he admitted quietly. “Tobirama has always been the terror of the Senju. Don’t get me wrong, Hashirama-sama’s on a different level to us all powerwise, only really matched by Madara-sama. Those two are like gods sometimes. But Tobirama was always so close and vicious. It made him, I don’t know, worse somehow. I watched him fight my best friend for years before he killed him.”

She was quiet, watching him carefully, but the blankness on her face felt rather like a lack of judgement rather than an attempt to hide anything. 

“But he’s not like that at all, it turns out. He’s very…”

How to sum it up? The contradiction of Tobirama still had no solution in his head, and he found all the words he reached for to describe him inadequate. 

“Reserved?” Haruhi guessed. 

He shook his head, because that certainly wasn’t what he was reaching for, but she wasn’t wrong either, so he gave an aborted nod too. He tried to explain, “I don’t know. Wise, maybe? He’s only a few years older than me, but he feels so far beyond me. But he doesn’t make me feel lesser for it. He doesn’t mind questions and he gives patient answers. He’s certainly stern, but there’s a kindness there too. And he’s fiercely loyal and hardworking…” he trailed off, embarrassed that he’d ended up listing the Senju’s better traits. 

There was a teasing smile on the young girl’s face. “It sounds like you like him.”

Her tone implied a romance that left Hikaku looking up at her in wide-eyed, somewhat horrified surprise. 

“He is quite handsome,” she continued to tease. 

A blind man could see that the Senju’s looks were captivating, like light on the sharp edge of a sword. And Hikaku was no blind man. But nor did his romantic interests lean that way. “I’ll tell him you said so, Hyuuga-san,” he teased her in turn. 

It was his turn to laugh while she blushed and scoffed. Then he sobered. “There is no love lost between the Senju and the Uchiha clan,” he admitted what she already knew. “And yet, Tobirama has made every effort to extend his hand to me. I think I would follow him wherever he asked.” 

He wondered if he should even try and explain the fight with the border mission, and everything that had happened therein, Saito included.

He decided against it. After all, for all that they were tentative friends who talked about poetry and training together, they were also not yet officially allies. He wouldn’t want to jeopardize the mission they had only just barely salvaged by raising the concern of discord in the village they were persuading her family to join.

She waited for him to continue, but he decided to leave it there. He felt awkward sharing his observations about a man he still felt like he barely knew.

"Anyways, I'm sure he would explain it to you if you asked," he decided on saying instead, going back to their original topic. "He's not nearly as intimidating as he seems."

“If you say so,” Haruhi agreed with an easy shrug, amicably letting the matter drop. She stood, brushed off the dust from her knees, and offered him a slender hand to help him stand as well. “Spar with me, Uchiha?”

He took the hand, let her help him rise despite not having required such assistance since he was a toddler. Her hand felt nice in his, calloused from use rather than an heiresses soft skin. 

“I don’t know if sparring is a good idea,” he said, very aware of the way he had surmised the last visit by an Uchiha had gone, and how easily a spar could be misconstrued. 

She insisted. “It is a good idea. You wouldn’t argue with your host, now would you? Besides, I’ll even let you use that stick of yours.”

He smiled despite himself and spun his staff a few times, feeling for any weakness in the chakra hardened wood as the red ribbon on the end danced with the breeze. Finding none, he twisted the staff to run in line with his arm as it crossed behind him, the length of it touching his back between his shoulder blades. He nodded to Haruhi.

She looked around, judging the space of the shore, before turning to the still lake beside them with a tilt of her head. He nodded in response, and leaped out onto the open water half a second beside her. The lake would serve as good an arena as any.

Ten feet apart, the Uchiha and the Hyuuga sized each other up.

“Taijutsu only?” she suggested. 

He nodded. No _jyuuken_ strikes then, which was good. He’d only been on the receiving end of them once, and it was a painful enough memory that he was in no hurry to repeat it. It was only fair to even it out and refrain from using his genjutsus. Besides, his genjutsus were more augmentations to his fighting style than the core that they made up with most Uchiha. He would do fine without them for a friendly spar, no matter the heiress’s level. 

There was a breath, a whisper of wind that rippled the water beneath their feet, before both of them slid down to the ready. 

Haruhi’s raised hands looked like snakes ready to strike, one ahead, one at her side, chambered and ready. Her knees were braced, ready to cycle the power of her legs up into her hands. Like the snake, it would only strike if approached, lightning quick and deadly.

Very well. Hikaku would play the crane then.

He slid one leg forward, leaned his torso over the knee, his gun-staff menacingly perpendicular behind him like open wings. A flick of his wrist sent it spinning in a whirlwind around him as he leaped towards her. The veins around his opponents eyes bulged as said eyes widened. Hikaku’s eyes turned red in turn. 

Using gained momentum from the spin, he brought Senpuu down hard, but not so much that he couldn’t abort the movement in case his friend wasn’t as competent as he’d assumed she was.

She was every bit the competent warrior he’d guessed. 

Moving like liquid, she batted the staff away as it passed with the flat of one hand, bringing the other up to hit Hikaku’s undefended side. 

She was fast, but Senpuu was faster. Hikaku flicked his wrist to take advantage of the diverted momentum to bring the staff back in whirl as he leapt and twisted away from the strike.

The staff nearly caught Haruhi across center mass, but she pulled back. As it was, the red ribbon at the end of the staff made contact with her full sleeve, but the tip of the staff missed her torso by inches. 

She leapt back.

Hikaku let her go, landing in a low crouch, Senpuu ending its twisting cycles in Hikaku’s waiting left hand. Said hand slid up the smooth wood, while the right remained where it had been during the entirety of the strike. 

He breathed, feeling his heart begin to beat in his ears, a prelude to the calm that overtook him in battle. He struggled to keep a smile from his face. This was going to be fun.

Haruhi watched him across the distance, harried from the hasty retreat, but grinning as well. She didn’t flinch from his slowly swirling sharingan as their dojustsus met across the water.

“You’re very fast,” she said.

The ‘faster than me’ went unsaid, but they both heard it. In a real fight, Hikaku would kill her, likely before she could get a return hit in. She was good, her moves utterly Hyuuga in their precision and style. In a couple years, when she was Hikaku’s age, she might even be great, but as it was, there was a dearth of experience and ability between them that would not be easily overcome.

Still, they had time. Hikaku was grateful for it as he watched the girl sink into another opening position, a snake clad in white waiting to strike.

“Again?” Hikaku asked to make sure. 

Still grinning, she nodded, and lunged forward, already moving her hands. 

-

From far above them, on the walls of the outermost bailey of the Hyuuga complex, Tobirama and Hanami, along with a crowd of Hyuuga councilmembers, watched the spectacle unfolding below. A swirl of black and white, punctuated with flashes of red from Hikaku’s staff, danced across the water. They were well matched, but anyone could see that Hikaku was holding back. Every now and then, the dance would pause, the combatants swirling apart before coming back together.

From this distance, Tobirama could just make out the wood crossing up and over the crouched Hikaku’s shoulder to rest on the Hyuuga heiress's collarbone, stopping her mid palm-thrust.

There was a pause, before the staff receded. Haruhi’s nod of concession was only noticeable due to the way it flipped her high-tied-up hair. 

They flew apart, then were back at it again.

“He’s very good,” Hanami mused next to him, arms crossed.

Tobirama nodded. Hikaku was a more than competent shinobi. He said so. 

“Look again,” Hanami insisted. He glanced sideways at her. The Hyuuga Clan Head had her long-seeing _byakugan_ activated and looked thoughtful. Seeing that he didn’t understand, she explained. “He’s _teaching_ her, as a _senpai_ would, rather than treating her as a member of a rival clan. He is not just a talented shinobi. He is a good man”

So, Tobirama looked again. He couldn’t make them out as clearly as she could, but now that she mentioned it, he noted Hikaku going for Haruhi’s feet when she had them too planted, aiming for holes in her defense, but giving her enough time to correct and notice them. 

As a good sparring partner would. 

It wasn’t often that Tobirama underestimated people. If at all possible, he tried to follow the shinobi teaching, “underestimate the ally, overestimate the enemy.” He supposed he’d been categorizing Hikaku as the latter for so long it had become an ingrained habit. 

It wasn’t the other man’s fighting he’d misjudged, but rather his temperament. Resentment and distrust had so characterized his encounters with the Uchiha that it had become the response he’d expected from them. 

But the last few weeks had taught him better, and he found himself rather calmly unsurprised.

“It seems we have much to learn from one another, Tobirama-dono,” Hanami said, turning to him. 

“Peace comes before wisdom, or so the monks say,” he replied.

“They do,” agreed Hanami, not looking at the elders behind her, who were clearly listening with half an ear as they watched the spar between the heirs to two of the most powerful families in the Fire Country. Turning to face him, she looked him dead in the eye to make sure he understood exactly what she was saying. “With the Senju and the Uchiha as our guides, perhaps we may gain some wisdom of our own.” 

Ah. She’d made her decision then. The Hyuuga would join Konoha. The rest was all formalities. 

As one, they bowed to each other.

Mission success.

Thank the Sage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loves!
> 
> Dude, huge shout out to LostInThePines for helping me get this next chapter up so quickly. She is the real MVP, I don't have all that much to say on this chapter, other than it is one of my very favorites and I hope you all like it. I would love to hear what you think of it too <3
> 
> The only other thing I want to say is that the support after my last author's note was godlike. You guys are so wonderful and amazing and I love you all. I hope that everyone is hanging in there and that this chapter can maybe brighten your day a bit. The world is super crazy right now and we could all use a bit of an escape.
> 
> All my love,  
-Moth


	14. Chapter 14

The cat didn’t like the clone.

Izuna hadn’t really noticed at first. He had a lot other, more pressing things on his mind than the furball who wouldn’t get off him.

Like Tobirama, who’d been gone for weeks, on a mission that was likely being sabotaged, either by his own clan, or by Tobirama’s own brother. Or the fact that, should Tobirama not survive, Izuna would almost certainly die as well. 

Not thinking about how he was going to die alone in this bed took up nearly as much time as trying not to imagine being eaten by the stupid cat when it happened. But even those happy thoughts could not keep him company forever, and slowly his anxiety bled into boredom. 

It was around that time that he began to notice. 

First, the stupid animal hardly ever left it’s place on his sternum. Despite Izuna not being able to open his eyes, and sleeping through a significant portion of the day, it was hard not to notice that every time the clone came close to the bed the cat stiffened up. 

If the clone came too close, something necessary at least once a day for him to change out the various bags and medicine Tobirama had pumping into Izuna, the cat hissed and growled until the clone finally backed off. 

Every now and again, the clone would try moving the cat from its perpetual perch on Izuna’s chest to make the process easier, and every time, the cat’s claws would dig into the duvet and it would _yeowl_.

It was fucking hilarious.

Except that, whenever he did it, the cat's claws would extend through the thick comforter and scrape Izuna’s chest, brushing abrasively against his unprotected skin. Izuna had had his blood drawn often enough that he was certain the claws never did, but it was uncomfortable all the same. 

Honestly, the annoyance it caused the clone was worth the pain, even if only for the sheer epicaricacy. 

So, worth it.

“You’re a menace,” the clone told the cat swiping at him for the ninetieth time. “You’re lucky Tobirama’s coming back today or you’d be target practice.”

_What?_

Izuna’s heart rate sped up, something the clone evidently noticed. Clones didn’t respond to Izuna the same way Tobirama himself did, but it had clearly been instructed to be hyper aware of Izuna’s physical reactions and immediately noticed the increase.

“Oh, I suppose I didn’t tell you. Tobirama sent word that the mission was successful. He should return to the Village sometime today.”

_And you didn’t think to tell me?_

Fuck it. The cat had the right idea. He fucking _hated_ this clone.

But even his annoyance couldn’t bury the sheer relief that swamped him. He wouldn’t be fully satisfied until the stupid clone was gone and Tobirama was back, but Izuna was desperately looking forward to having someone to _talk_ to again. 

...kind of.

Whatever. It didn’t matter. 

Tobirama had somehow managed to find a way past the sabotage. He would be home soon, and Izuna might, still, just maybe, get his chance to apologize.

Thank the Sage.

-

For as long as she could remember, Hyuuga Haruhi was aware that she was living a blessed life in a cursed time. Sure, her father had died while she was still young, just after her little sister was born, but she only vaguely remembered him. It was hard to miss something she couldn’t really remember. But she did witness almost every day, her family, removed by a large degree more often than not, but family nonetheless, come home wounded if they came home at all. During her mother’s youth, the latter had been more likely, with Haruhi’s father being just one of many victims to this never ending war.

Her mother had led the Hyuuga to peace, but at the cost of their prosperity, a trade off required by the simple fact that more Hyuuga were dying than being born. Discrecion being the better part of valor, her mother had brought all the Hyuuga home safe to roost, took missions sparingly, focused on holding ground rather than gaining new. 

The old breed had fummed at the thought of giving up the never-ending quest of conquest, but thankfully, her mother was too much of a ruthless pragmatist to give way to sentiment. One didn’t need the byakugan to see that the Uchiha were winning. Better to conserve strength, hold out, and hope that the Uchiha and their other rival, the Senju tore each other apart. The Hyuuga would have better luck mopping up the remnants of whichever side prevailed. 

That the Senju and the Uchiha had made peace instead, uniting their forces was the realization of the worst possible scenario. When their mutual emissary arrived those months ago, a proud Uchiha who made no bones about the fact that he was the harbinger of the Hyuuga’s doom, it had seemed that all hope was lost. It was just a matter of time before the Hyuuga and their way of life was wiped from existence. 

Her mother sent the hubristic Uchiha back to the so-called “God of the Shinobi” with firm instructions that peace with the Hyuuga would be on their terms and not his. And if Konoha would threaten war, then the Hyuuga would prepare for war. The ambassador had seemed pleased at the thought.

_Pleased._

The less said about that particular Uchiha, with his sneering condescension and his loose hand with katon jutsus, the better. Haruhi would be more than happy if she never saw him again. 

When another Uchiha arrived at their doorstep, the legendary Senju Ghost at his side, they had feared the worst. 

It was a well kept secret, but Haruhi’s _byakugan_ was the most powerful _dojutsu_ in their clan, more powerful than even her mother’s. When the Senju flared his chakra in the mountain pass upon meeting her kinsman, she had been nearly blinded by the sudden supernova blazing at the outer perimeter of her _dojutsu’s_ range. 

The showing was impressive to say the least. And terrifying, in the wake of Konohagakure’s last ambassador’s promise. They’d all been relieved, to say the least, when the Senju had proved to have peaceful intentions. But more surprising had been the Uchiha. 

Hikaku was nice. 

By virtue of her rank, Haruhi didn’t have many friends her own age. Sure, Hikaku had a few years on her (and what felt like a few decades in skill if their spars were any indication. She was one of the best Hyuuga fighters, certainly of her generation, and she could reliably beat a few of her uncles whenever they sparred, but Hikaku was a war veteran. He had seen real combat in a way that she had never been allowed, and it showed in his speed, instinct, and experience. He was always three steps ahead, but she vowed, she would catch up), but she could honestly say she considered him a friend.

She wasn’t as sure about the rest of their travel companions. The family council had insisted that cousin Asahi and his (rather loathsome, in her opinion) son, Hitoro, accompany her to Konohagakure, both as the closest relatives to the main branch family still living and as her direct protectors. 

Fortunately, her mother had let Haruhi pick the other two members of their entourage. She’d picked Megumi, her once tutor, in all things from dance to diplomacy, and Wakashi-sama, the youngest, and most progressive, member of the Hyuuga Council at forty-seven, but a member nonetheless. Haruhi knew her mother had been pleased with her choice by the smile she gave. It was an important lesson to choose her own councillors.

Lastly in their party was Senju Tobirama. 

Haruhi mostly walked with Hikaku, but kept her eye on the quiet albino walking behind them.

Even after a full day and a half of traveling in his constant company, the man was still every bit the enigma Hikaku had promised he was. 

Tobirama’s mannerisms were nothing like Hikaku’s. He was quiet, reserved, and ruthlessly intelligent. But he was also reasonable. Her mother certainly thought so. 

After the disaster of the first Konoha visit, Haruhi had seen the dread of open war creep into her mother’s face as they shared dinner and looked over the clan’s administration, the tension that haunted her formidable mother’s striding steps. Over the course of two weeks, it wasn’t Hikaku, so much more friendly but unable to fully eclipse his kinsman’s dreadful first impression, that had assuaged the Hyuuga Clan Head and council, but rather the stalwart Tobirama. For all that he was intimidating, for all that he _felt_ dangerous, her mother liked him. 

And Hikaku said that he would follow Tobirama wherever he led. 

It was enough that Haruhi was inclined to like him, if she ever got up the nerve to talk to him. 

On the second evening of their trek to the rumored Village Hidden in the Leaves, she determined that she was going to talk to him. They stopped a little earlier than necessary to rest at one of the more popular way-points on the road from the Hyuuga compound. The vertical downward slope had leveled out to a small clearing. One of the only such clearings they were likely to see until they reached the base of the mountain. There wasn’t much to shelter them from the wind roaring up the mountain path, but someone had built a small structure against the shadowing cliff large enough to house one or two travelers, and the clearing itself had enough space to lay out bedrolls for the others. 

It was the easiest camping they’d see until they reached the forest, by Hyuuga reckoning, and if Haruhi’s uncle said this was the place to stop, she was disinclined to spurn his advice. 

Setting up camp with so many warriors was an exercise in observing military efficiency. Haruhi did her best to stay out of their way and get a fire and dinner started. 

By the time dinner was on its way to being cooked, the camp was ready and the others were relaxing around her campfire. 

Haruhi eyed the Senju, keeping to himself on the far side of the fire. It was something she’d noticed he did often, holding himself on the outside, away from the others. 

She hadn’t been lying when she said the man intimidated her, but she realized she might never get another opportunity to speak to him. She summoned her courage and said, “Senju-san?” 

He looked up, and she was able to see that he was, once more pouring a scroll. He’d done the same thing every time she’d seen him at rest, but she wouldn’t let it deter her. 

“I was wondering if you’d spar with me?” she continued. “Hikaku says you’re an excellent teacher. I’d love a chance to learn from you before we leave Hyuuga lands.”

Hikaku choked a bit behind her, and Asahi stiffened, but she ignored them. The Senju in question raised an eyebrow, but before she could become nervous, he nodded and rolled up his scroll. 

Haruhi realized at that moment that she hadn’t really expected him to agree. She shot to her feet and went into the clearing to get ready. 

As she stretched her arms out and tried to become limber once more after a full day of climbing down the mountain path, Tobirama stood, leaving his sword resting on the ground. 

“Haruhi-sama, are you sure?” Megumi asked quietly, but still loud enough that the two Konoha-nin could hear her. 

Haruhi silenced her old tutor with a look. 

Honestly, she was sixteen. She could make her own decisions. Maybe she’d made a poor one asking Megumi to come along if she was already questioning Haruhi’s decisions.

“This isn’t really what I meant,” Hikaku mused from where he was still sitting by the fire as she stretched her legs a bit and cracked her neck. She sent him a smile.

“You should have been more specific, then,” she mused and sent him a wink, before turning to face Tobirama, who was waiting patiently. 

“Challenged sets the terms,” Haruhi offered.

Tobirama tilted his head at her, blatantly assessing. 

“I have no particular preference,” he said.

Alright, she shrugged. “Nothing with large scale damage?” The last thing they needed was a landslide.

She was sure he knew about her family’s _jyuken_ strikes by now, but was pleased when he did not restrict her from using it. She knew she would need all the advantages she could get. 

She took stock of the field she’d chosen to fight on. The clearing was small with their camp set up, and the cliffs to one side offered nowhere to run. The trees might give a bit of cover to keep things interesting, but they were thin this high up. The fight would be mostly close-quarters then. She might have the advantage.

She nodded her readiness to Tobirama, who nodded back, and waited politely as her hands started glowing blue and she slid into the opening stance of the Hyuuga’s Gentle Fist style, _byakugan_ activated, taking in everything all at once. Watching. 

Waiting. 

One of the first secrets to this style was that it was primarily used as defense. It worked best when a Hyuuga was able to plant themselves like a mountain and deflect anything that came at them. 

The Senju tilted his head thoughtfully, his white hair catching the evening sun, highlighting the lines on his face.

In an instant, he was right in front of her. His chakra system was a blur of light.

He’d closed the distance between them in a fraction of a second, coming to her right side. 

He stepped, spun, and sent a hand slicing towards her face. Haruhi ducked the blow, stepping back into a low strike. 

He blocked with his forearm to hers. The contact hurt. Haruhi knew she would bruise even as she tried to curl her fingers back around. All she needed was just a touch of contact, but he was too fast. His arm, the same one he’d used to block, closed around her forearm instead, well inside her guard. 

Her _byakugan_ could see what he was doing, where he was, but it didn’t help at all as his other hand grabbed her same bicep, his hips closing in to loosen her stance. With a quick pull, he’d levered her up and off her feet, too fast for her to even see, and he tossed her.

Mid-air, she tumbled and landed in a roll. She spun back up onto her feet, careful to still be facing him. 

He was already on her again. This time on her left, but far too close again for her to do anything.

Kami, she’d thought Hikaku was fast. This was like fighting a hurricane.

She couldn’t get a hit on him, he moved so quickly. After a few strikes, he came at her from odd angles, almost as though he were testing her vision’s prowess, and still, she could do nothing. 

It would be infuriating if she wasn’t so busy trying to sneak past his impeccable guard. 

All she needed was a glancing blow, but he moved like water, twisting out and away, countering, pushing her _back_.

“Watch your feet,” he said, a whisper on the wind. 

It gave her just enough warning to leap away. 

He pushed her further, attacking her stance now, keeping her feet scrambling beneath her for purchase. Making her _move_. 

The _jyuken_ was a grounded style. Tobirama had clearly honed in on this weakness. Already. 

Leading her around the clearing, he maintained the pace, forcing her feet to fly just to keep up. 

Acrobatics was not Haruhi’s strongest skill, but there was no time to worry about it as she forced her body to move. 

She flipped over backwards to avoid his sweeping kick. Loose dirt and dust flew into the air, which wasn’t enough to distort her _byakugan_ but it did make her turn away. She had to use a backwards handspring to get clear of the debris. But he was there waiting where she’d planned to land.

Desperate, Haruhi forced chakra into the ground through her hands to propel herself upwards. She twisted in the air, but there he was, again, leaping up to meet her meters above the ground this time. Scrambling for some room, she sent a volley of kunai, a last resort for any _jyuken_ user, his way just to push him back.

Tobirama lips twitched in what might have been a smile as he dodged backwards and avoided the weapons without even having to deflect them. 

He landed away from her without a sound, backing off to let her do the same.

Less than a minute of close combat with the man, and Haruhi was already gasping. 

“You’re weaker on the right side,” he told her after she’d caught her breath enough to get back into her beginning stance. “Put your guard up and observe.”

Curious, she did so, and he walked over to her.

“You’re _jyuken_ requires one hand for deflection and one for a pinpoint strike. Naturally, you wish to strike with your right hand, a dominance you should train yourself out of. Likewise,” he knelt down beside her and gently took her back foot, which held most of her weight and moved it, widening her stance.

“I understand that your hands are your main weapon, but at your size, I would recommend blocks and counters with kicks as well. You are too planted in the ground. It limits the ways in which you can react. Widening your stance, bending your back knee more will give you more power to get airborne if your opponent tries to uproot you like I did,” he said. He helped her bend at the knee and she tried to adjust to how different it felt. After she’d done so a few more times to commit the new stance to memory, he stood and returned some distance to her. 

“Why kicks?” she asked. “My feet can’t do the strikes.”

“I assure you, a kick to the head will be just as incapacitating as any of your strikes.”

She thought she heard Hikaku snort from behind her, and vowed to get him back, but Tobirama continued before she could send him a glare.

“Your family has a very specific skill, and you’ve honed your fighting style to be perfectly adapted to take every advantage of it. However, in doing so, you have neglected the other skills that shinobi without your talents utilize to find success. Against an enemy with greater speed than yourself, you would be best keeping them at a distance, which you instinctively understood there at the end, and used your kunai to keep me back. Versatility is a shinobi's greatest weapon. You should not abandon your family’s style by any means, but rather diversify your thinking to incorporate augmentations to it.”

That made sense. Nodding thoughtfully, she bounced a bit in her new stance. It was similar to her old one, but he was right. It felt a bit more springy. 

Grinning up at him, she nodded, and asked, “Again?”

He nodded.

This time, she didn’t give up the first attack, but instead, immediately charged at the Senju at her fullest speed. Her hand glowed bright blue as she struck out, in a textbook strike. She was in no way surprised when he avoided it easily. 

She tried to sweep his legs out from where he’d planted himself when he’d tilted back to dodge. It didn’t work, he lept over her leg easily, but she felt herself get closer with her follow up strike then she had before.

She didn’t flatter herself by thinking that she actually _had_ been closer, or quicker really. Like most of her sparing teachers, Tobirama was rewarding her learning with progress she could observe for herself.

She might have been offended, but Hikaku mentioned he was a good teacher. His babying her through their spar wasn’t a criticism of her skill, or an act of condescension, but a good teacher pushing a student neither too far nor too fast. He was clearly tempering himself so she could learn rather than just crushing her spirit over and over. They both knew by now that he more than had that ability, not that she’d ever had a doubt about it before.

Step. Strike. He knocked her hand aside, avoiding contact still, and parried, aiming a reverse palm strike to her ribs. She had to beat a hasty retreat, especially as his next follow up strike was a foot aiming for her face. She ducked and spun, tried to kick his legs out, but he wasn't there anymore, had gone up and over her, hands flashing through seals she didn’t recognize. Spinning her defensive stance to face upwards, her left hand struck out like a snake from the voluminous silk of her sleeve. 

It connected! Or, she thought it had. 

The Senju exploded into a fall of leaves. How?

Her _byakugan_ scanned all around at once. Up, over, _below_-

She jumped up and away just in time to escape his hand about to bury her.

Right. _Doton_.

Backflipping away three times to put some distance between them. Pointless because he was _still_ right there when she came up. Her sharp eyes were the only reason she caught the glint of steel in his hand with enough warning to pull out a kunai of her own and deflect. 

Sparks flew off the metal as they collided, and she was glad for every single hour of kunai training she had suffered through. 

She blocked and struck and blocked and struck in rhythm with Tobirama’s and tried to _breathe_.

He was so fast. It was only thanks to her family’s _dojutsu_ that she could see what he was doing, but she couldn’t move fast enough to get ahead of him for it to matter much. And he never let her get comfortable. Not for a moment. As soon as the rhythm was established he did something with his blade that popped hers out of her grip. She barely had time for her eyes to widen before the rounded butt of his kunai hit her ribs. 

He leapt away again and let her catch her breath.

She used the moment to cast her most subtle _genjutsu_, leaving an image of herself gasping to disguise her _shishun_ to behind him. Her glowing hand hummed by his ear and she felt a thrum of victory for just half a second before the cold of a kunai rested on her neck and the Senju before her disappeared _again_. 

It was a _genjutsu_, same as hers. Her eyes could see through those, at least to some degree, but by the time she had noticed the difference, it was already too late. He was just too fast. Her eyes could barely track him.

“Better,” he said. 

The grin his simple praise brought was impossible to suppress.

“Again,” she demanded as she turned to face him. It was like fighting her mom but _better_. She had no idea what he would do next. 

He nodded, but said, “Taijutsu only.”

Tilting her head in confusion, she asked, “Why?”

“Because it is your specialty, and you will be too tired for close combat after this round.”

It was exactly the kind of challenge she liked. She brought her hands up, flooding them and her eyes with chakra. His chakra system lit up before her. His sixty-four _tenketsu_ points, her targets, were glowing like supernovas. 

This time, Tobirama attempted something that Haruhi had been told her entire life was impossible. He took on a _jyuken_ user in close hand to hand combat, staying no more than three feet from her. 

Within moments, Haruhi felt like she’d missed at least a hundred strikes. He flowed passed and around her hands like water. Every time she aimed for a specific point, he anticipated her and moved around her fingers so quickly she couldn’t keep up. It was like poetry in motion, watching him avoid her. And endlessly frustrating. 

She wished she could slow down and appreciate what he was doing to avoid her, absorb it to study later and incorporate it into her style, like he’d suggested. But she was too busy trying to keep up as he pushed her faster and faster. 

She was quickly becoming exhausted, but she battled through it. Pushed and was _pushed_. Back and forth and back and forth, her chakra bouncing off every deflected miss in explosions of blue, cracking across the clearing along with the thumps of blows traded and missed, but-

_There!_

Finally, she felt her fingers just barely graze the correct point with enough pressure to pass her chakra through his thick shirt and shut down his forearm. She felt ecstatic - she’d done it! - for just a second before pain exploded in her knee and hip and-

Tobirama hadn’t stopped. Not for a moment. She’d been so focused on getting her hit in that she’d forgotten her defenses and over extended. He’d probably even sacrificed that arm in order to teach her this lesson. She’d hyperfocused on hitting him. He’d focused on winning. 

She had just enough time to roll away before his foot was where her face had been.

Haruhi came back up, rumpled and dirty and determined, but Tobirama did not reengage her right away. Instead, he was staring down at his hand with a look that even her eyes couldn’t decipher. Surprise maybe? Or recognition? 

She only had a second to try, regardless, because after half a moment, his red eyes met hers and the look there spiked her addrenallin. 

The next half an hour was some of the most brutal endurance training she had _ever_ experienced. 

When he closed in on her this time, it felt like a whole different level. He was faster, blocked harder. Even one handed he had her scrambling. Her hands shook, her calves screamed as she had to avoid sweeping kicks and twisting footwork. She didn’t have time to block, just had to focus on dodging, but he only had one hand, so she kept up well enough until-

His chakra flared. A bright burst that felt like the lashing of a sea storm engulfed his arm in a snap. The rest of his chakra system dimmed as all of his huge store of Senju chakra flooded down to his closed tenketsu point and she was off balance, entirely unprepared for the impossible. 

The _tenketsu_ point, deadend and closed, cracked open under the pure pressure of him pushing everything bit of his chakra into it. The hand she had been content to ignore hit her sternum in a lesson she would not soon forget. 

Nonetheless, he sprung back and let her recover. 

This time, she needed that moment. Every once of air had been pushed out of her lungs. 

“How!?” her cousin Hitoro stood and shouted.

“Quiet,” Asahi snapped. 

Her uncle had his arms crossed and _byakugan_ active. The reproach in his tone at Hitoro’s outburst was obvious, but Haruhi barely noticed. She was too busy trying to breathe.

When Tobirama spoke though, she definitely listened.

“Never believe you know all of your opponent’s abilities. You underestimated me. The moment you accept the situation is as it seems is the moment you leave yourself open to surprises. Deadly, more often than not.”

A more than fair criticism. Never once had it even seemed possible that her family’s signature jutsu could be beaten in the span of an evening’s spar. Much less the first time her opponent encountered it. It shouldn’t have been possible, which, in hindsight seemed like pure hubris, doubled over as she was now. Her chest was _aching_. 

He waited for her to nod, waited for her to say, “I understand,” before he approached her. She carefully withheld the way she wanted to flinch and chastised herself for being ridiculous. 

He wasn’t even breathing heavily, but he made up for it with the glowing hand he laid on her back. 

Cool, clear chakra pooled around her as the bruises he’d left faded and the pain in her chest eased. 

She stared at him, wide eyed as he withdrew. She had heard of Senju healing techniques, but feeling them for herself was something else. It would have taken her clan healers full minutes to get some of those bruises to go down.

“Wow,” she said with a bow as he stepped back, “Thank you very much!”

He simply nodded, but appeared to be distracted, staring down again at his arm where the reopened (_how?_) _tenketsu_ point deep beneath his skin. 

She couldn’t help herself. Flipping back her hair from where its tie had begun to give out, she took Hikaku’s advice and asked, “How did you do that?” nodding at the arm in question.

His red eyes were quiet and face inscrutable as he simply replied, “I am a Senju.”

Which she supposed was a fair answer, even if it was disappointing. She could not give up the clan secrets behind the technique if he’d asked. It seemed only fair that he would not give out his subversion of it. 

She’d resolved to forever wonder, and perhaps experiment herself, but he continued speaking. “Perhaps one day, if the Hyuuga do decide to join our Village, we may readdress this subject.” She looked at him, surprised to find how kind his eyes were. “As for now, that is enough for one day.”

Grinning, she agreed, because firstly, she was still shaking a bit, and knew, fancy Senju healing techniques aside, she would still be feeling the effects of this fight tomorrow. And also, it smelled like dinner was ready. She was starving.

They rejoined the others around the fire. Megumi gave her a canteen of cool water. Haruhi took a few deep pulls and then splashed some into her hands and across her face, all the while using her _byakugan_ to quietly watch Tobirama return to the fire. It was getting chilly, and the shock of the cold water was a bit unpleasant, but it cleared away the sweat that had poured during that last sprint match.

Hikaku nodded to him and handed Tobirama his share of the rice and _yakitori_. Tobirama took the food, but didn’t stay and chat. Instead, he went a short distance away to sit with his back to one of the small boulders littering the clearing, and set his food aside in favor of pulling out his book and a brand new scroll.

Haruhi felt the indecision creep in once more, his rainlashed chakra and stern visage making her hesitate, but…

Hikaku didn’t hesitate, just got his own food and went to sit by Tobirama, who looked up and, though he didn’t seem welcoming, not really, neither did he turn the Uchiha away, even as Hikaku began to speak to him.

“You know, Izuna always complained about your habit of pulling off the impossible.”

Tobirama didn’t answer for a long moment, during which Megumi brought a serving of dinner over for Haruhi, which she nearly ignored in favor of the byplay happening between the two outsiders.The silence between them felt tense, the precipice between them palpable, but Hikaku seemed to ease it with the quiet, apologetic smile he sent Tobirama.

Finally, the Senju looked back down at what he was writing.

“I assure you, it was equally annoying when your cousin managed it.”

Hikaku actually smiled a bit at that, and even if it felt heartbroken, he didn’t leave, stayed with the Senju to eat his own meal, and he could be brave, could breach the gap and bury the past that clearly had the potential to tear them apart, then Haruhi’s own hesitance just seemed stupid. 

So she ignored the looks from her family and headed over to have her own meal with them too.

“Hikaku was right,” she said as she settled, her _byakugan_ finally deactivating, “You’re an excellent teacher.”

His pale hand stopped writing.

“I’m not,” he said.

She didn’t even know how to respond to the blatant fallacy of that statement. She had never really bought into the idea of Hyuuga stoicism. Her mother had raised her to be whoever she wanted to be, to know that the way things have always been doesn’t mean that’s the way things always have to be. But even with that knowledge, she probably should have been ashamed of the way her jaw fell open.

Hikaku saved her though.

“What do you mean?” he asked for her.

Tobirama continued his writing once more as he said, “I have only ever taught two students. Neither of them survived to adulthood.”

He didn’t sound as heartbroken as the sentiment deserved, but then, he didn’t sound like anything. Just, hollow.

“Your brothers?” Hikaku asked, and the absolute stillness that fell over Tobirama’s face felt like devastation. 

He nodded.

For a long moment, no one said anything. Hikaku’s eyes were fixed on the ground between them, and Tobirama wasn’t writing, just staring at his scroll like he couldn’t even see it.

She cleared her throat.

“At the Hyuuga Temple,” she said, “There’s a poem called ‘Loss’. It has three words, but the poet scratched them out. You can’t define ‘loss’. You can’t see it. Only feel it. But we can see its effects in one another. Whether it is in the scars on the soul or afflictions of the mind. In my experience there is nothing more capable of distorting our own perspective than loss.”

The albino watching her was older, infinitely more experienced, _wiser_, but he was listening nonetheless so she didn’t let herself second guess herself.

“So, I’m sorry for your loss, but don’t let it blind you to the truth, which is that I’ve learned more in the last hour than I have in years. I thank you for it.”

She finished with a bow, respect earned and given. 

“... As you say.”

She had only known him for a few short weeks, but she knew that was as much of a concession as he was willing to give. She also knew that dwelling on the past would do nothing for them, so when she rose, she did so with a smile.

“Now,” she said, “I don’t suppose you’d explain about using jutsus of another element? Hikaku’s explanation was useless.”

“Hey,” said Uchiha protested mildly, but the look on his face said he was grateful, so she ignored him, looking only to Tobirama instead.

The shift in the Senju’s face was nearly imperceptible, but she could have sworn she saw just a hint of a smile.

He nodded, and the rest of the evening faded into quiet enlightenment as she gleefully picked the brain of one of the smartest humans she had ever met.

She had been worried when her mother told her she would be leaving home for the first time, but honestly, she couldn’t imagine better company to spend it in. Even if Hitoro’s presence, sulking over by the fire, couldn't dampen her enthusiasm.

This trip was going to be _fascinating_.

-

Tobirama would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a certain amount of relief as they crested the cliffs to find Konohagakure sprawling out before them, whole, standing, and beautiful in the midmorning light. A veritable weight lifted off his shoulders as he let out a quiet sigh. 

He’d made it home again.

“Wow,” Haruhi said from where she approached the cliff next to him. “I hadn’t expected it to be so established.”

“Six months can be a long time if people are dedicated enough,” Hikaku said. “Many hands, and all that.”

“The Hokage’s _mokuton_ has definitely sped things up,” Tobirama said, crossing his arms.

“That’s his wood release, right?” Haruhi asked.

Tobirama nodded. 

“Hashirama raised most of the building over the course of a few weeks. There are limitations, of course, but we were able to move much faster towards a true settlement than would otherwise have been possible,” he said, and turned back to the road.

The others followed, Haruhi asking more about the particulars of the village’s infrastructure and Hashirama’s abilities. Thankfully, Hikaku answered them aptly because Tobirama had other thoughts to occupy him.

His spar with the Hyuuga heiress had been a revelation.

Tobirama had spent months with his chakra integrated into Izuna’s muted chakra system. He knew it as well as he knew his own by now, every curve and path and all the ways in which it was _empty_. Not low, not suppressed. Dormant. It was not a sensation he had ever felt before. At first, he’d thought perhaps the Uchiha was braindead; that he had lost too much blood for too long and the oxygen deprivation had caused permanent damage. That would have aligned with the lack of chakra activity, but he still reacted to neural stimuli so that was discarded. Tobirama was convinced that Izuna’s soul still resided in the body he’d preserved. The chakra must still be there, but it was being blocked somehow.

It was unlike anything he had ever felt. 

Until Haruhi hit his _tenketsu_ point.

The feeling in his deadened arm had been _identical_.

Haruhi was decent for her years and experience, but she still had much to learn about diversifying her style. Sparing with her had not required much thought on his part, which meant that he could analyze the sensation at length, and work through exactly _how_ the jutsu worked.

It appeared to be a pinpoint application of foriegn chakra specifically designed to reverse the polarity of the point and, like dislocating a joint from its socket, this inhibited the chakra from continuing along it’s normal pathway. So, logically, an influx of chakra of the reversed charge could unlock it.

That it worked had somewhat confirmed his theory.

It was the closest thing to a breakthrough he had ever come across with regards to reviving the comatose Uchiha. Further testing was clearly required, and he was more than ready to begin. He refrained from rushing his Hyuuga companions, but only just. 

He was… anxious to see his patient.

It had been over two weeks since he’d last been able to check on him. The Hyuuga eyes had followed them everywhere; there was no way to escape and _hiraishin_ home to even check the vitals, and he had yet to attempt a jump of that distance. On a mission in foreign territory was not the time to try.

He had checked in using his communication scrolls, but due to the limited space, he could only enquire “status?” 

The scroll was littered with that word, and it’s repetitive partner: “Unchanged.”

Tobirama was sick of seeing the word. 

Konoha’s temporary gates came into view, and he was pleased to see them manned by two familiar faces. That, at least, was a good sign. 

“Welcome back,” Shiranui Genkai said with a tilt of their head. Aburame Saburo nodded to him on the other side.

“Anything to report?” he asked.

Shiranui looked to their Hyuuga companions and smiled blandly. Not good then.

“Everything went swimmingly, Tobirama-sama. No problems to report.”

Right. Though Tobirama had only met Shiranui a dozen times or so, even he could read that though there clearly _had been_ problems, the shinobi was not going to mention them in front of people they were hoping to impress. Wise.

Tobirama nodded at them, and gestured to the Hyuuga beside him.

“This is Hyuuga Haruhi, eldest daughter and heir to the Hyuuga Clan Head.” Both of them bowed to her in unison, deep and respectful, which she returned exactly correctly for an heir to an ancient and noble clan to a mid level shinobi from another clan. “Also an elder of her clan, Wakashi-san, her uncle Asahi-san and his eldest son Hitoro-san, and their clanswomen Megumi-san.”

More bows, but he forced himself to remain patient. First impressions were important, and these were some of the more advantageous people to have as the first Leaf shinobi Haruhi could be introduced to.

“This is Shiranui Genkai and Aburame Saburo.”

“I have heard of your clans, and am honored to meet you.”

_More_ bows.

“The Hokage got word you were due to arrive,” Genkai said, straightening and rotating their head to crack their spine. Given how often Tobirama had seen them slouch, he was unsurprised. “He’s expecting you.”

Tobirama nodded, but was stopped from making further progress through the gate by a small, curly haired blur barreling towards him and he should have known his comments on the necessity for discretion would have been entirely overridden by his last conversation with the young Uchiha.

Too late now.

“Tobi-kun!” Kagami said as he came running out of the gate towards them, skidding to a stop just feet before Tobirama, practically vibrating with excitement, “You’re back! Auntie Niita said you would be but you’ve been gone forever and ever and ever and I thought maybe you weren’t going to ever come back which was stupid because you promised but then it was taking _forever_. You missed us making dumplings for Kiko and Auntie Niita taught me some new kanji that are so pretty and I wanted to show you but you weren’t here and some of my cousins were being big fat jerks about it and I missed you-”

Tobirama couldn’t help the slight smile that wanted to pull at the corner of his lips as he said, “Kagami-kun. I’m glad to see you are well.”

The little boy had his fists clenched at his sides as he jumped up and down in place. Tobirama knew what was holding him back, and also knew that the entire contingent of shinobi around him were somewhat dumbstruck by what was happening. Lastly, he knew he didn’t care all that much about any of it because he’d missed Kagami too.

He knelt and opened his arms. It was all the encouragement the young Uchiha needed. 

The hug was nice, even if it was necessarily short. Kagami was beaming when he pulled back and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“I trust you have been keeping up with your training?” he asked, standing.

“Uh-huh!” Kagami said, nodding vigorously, “I tried the kata with the bird-thingy and finished all my-”

“Wait a minute,” Hikaku interrupted. Tobirama looked back at him and found the young man’s face had lost its usual politeness. Instead, he looked gobsmacked. “_You’re_ Tobi-kun? _You_?”

Tobirama tilted his head at the odd question.

“Of course Hikaku-nii! There aren’t any other Tobi’s in the Village!”

“That is not likely to be the case, Kagami,” Tobirama said, but nobody paid him any mind.

“_You_?” was all Hikaku could seem to say.

Kagami’s eye roll seemed to be a full-bodied motion as he whined, “Hikaku-niiiiiiii…” 

Half a giggle drew all eyes to Haruhi. She had one slender hand held up to her lips to hide the slight smile there.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“Haruhi-sama, this is Uchiha Kagami,” Tobirama said as Hikaku admirably tried to get over his surprise, “Kagami, this is the Hyuuga heiress, Hyuuga Haruhi.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Haruhi said with a bow, which meant that all of the Hyuuga with her also had to bow, something that clearly flummoxed Kagami, because he took a step closer to Tobirama, the shyness that could consume him making an untimely reappearance, but he managed to mirror her bow.

“Hi,” he said. 

Tobirama put his hand back on Kagami’s shoulder. The boy looked up at him, dark eyes wide and said, “I have to take Hyuuga-sama to the Hokage.”

“Aw, okay,” Kagami said, unfortunately more than used to having to step aside for duty, so Tobirama moved the hand from the boy's shoulder to his hair, ruffling it lightly.

“You may stay with us until the market, then Hikaku will take you home.”

Kagami beamed.

Tobirama was used to having Kagami hang off of him as they walked, but the eyes that followed him were new. He had tried to keep his relationship with the young Uchiha quiet, for the knowledge that the boy’s parents would no doubt object. Too late now, he supposed. By sundown, the whole Village would know.

The small hand that slipped into his was therefore unsurprising, and he looked down to find Kagami grinning up at him.

“What were the Hyuuga lands like? Tsubame-nii said it has lots of mountains. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a mountain, but I’ve seen lots of pictures and I’ve heard that there are lots and lots of spirits up there and ghosts and sometimes you can touch _clouds_, which is like fog but _better_-”

“How on earth did you two become friends?” Hikaku interrupted as he came to walk beside them.

Tobirama’s eyes cut over to him, reproachful as Kagami’s mouth shut with an audible clack. Silenced.

So, Tobirama answered the younger boy first. “They are very impressive, much like the clan that dwells there, but you should ask Haruhi-sama. It is her home after all, and I’m sure she would be more than happy to tell you about it.” The little Uchiha twisted to look behind them at Haruhi nervously, but the Hyuuga smiled encouragingly at him. Assured of her agreement, Tobirama continued, “Maybe in return, you can tell her all about Konoha?”

“I would be honored,” she said.

Kagami still looked unsure, and glanced back up at Tobirama, who nodded his approval.

That was really all it took for him to let go and hang back until he could ask Haruhi simply “... mountains?”

“Up to the stars,” she said with a wink.

Kagami gasped, “Really?”

Assured that they would no doubt keep each other busy for a while, Tobirama turned his attention back to Hikaku who was waiting patiently for all that he looked like his world had been tilted on its axle.

“I met him four months ago. He had wandered off into the east woods and straight into some Nara deer. They don’t take well to interlopers. Luckily, I was scouting for the defense project, and they were easily dissuaded.”

Hikaku seemed to need a full minute to process that information.

“Thank you,” he said finally, “Kagami can be a handful, but he’s very important to all of us.”

Crossing his arms, Tobirama said, “Then perhaps you should listen when he speaks. An inquisitive mind is not something to be wasted.”

“That’s-” Hikaku began, but trailed off, “... Fair. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me you should apologize to. Though I suspect you are hardly alone.”

“Is that why you took him under your wing?” asked Hikaku.

Shrugging just enough to twitch his pauldrons, Tobirama acknowledged, “In part.”

But he didn’t continue. Hikaku didn’t need to know that sometimes Tobirama could barely see Kagami for the similarities to Itama that glowed through; that Tobirama had been so starved for companionship, the constant inquiries of a young mind had seemed like a reprieve; that the boy's presence equally reminded him of another Uchiha, whose company Tobirama had become so accustomed; that any escape Kagami offered from the swirling chaos perpetually consuming his thoughts, including all he had done and all that still needed doing, especially when he considered the likelihood of his upcoming death-

Hikaku didn’t need to know any of that. Tobirama wouldn’t know where to begin regardless. 

To his credit, Hikaku seemed to be familiar enough with Tobirama now that he knew when to drop the subject. 

Unfortunately, the rest of the walk to the Hokage tower did not go as smoothly. It seemed word of his arrival had spread faster than words on the wind because by the time they reached the market, no less than half a dozen people had attempted to waylay him with some of the dozens of problems that had cropped up in his absence. Some, like the High Priest from the new temple and Elder Omura were tedious, but easily placated. Others, like the mildly panicked Morinoka from electrical engineering were not so easily swayed, but even she recognized that he was still escorting the Hyuuga and that his assistance would have to be delayed a while longer. 

None of which successfully abated his slight anxiety over his upcoming meeting with Hashirama. He knew that his absence had had profound, entirely unexpected consequences. Consequences he, of all people, should have seen coming. He should have known that his leaving wouldn’t be as sabotaged as the rest of his endeavors. 

But even beside that, the wedge between himself and Hashirama had been thoroughly driven in.

The upcoming conversation was unlikely to be pleasant. 

-

“Hokage-sama? The Hyuuga contingent is here,” Mitari announced, as he poked his head into Hashirama’s office.

“Come in!” he called out, grateful for a reason to put down his pen.

He thought he would be annoyed when he finally saw Tobirama again. Thought he would feel some of the frustration that had plagued the last few days bubble up under his skin, but when Tobirama actually walked through the door, looking no worse for wear after weeks of no contact, Hashirama couldn’t help the relief that coursed through him.

The Hyuuga mission was supposed to be an easy success, but Tobirama’s updates had painted a picture of contention that was in no way consistent with what Uchiha Kenichi had reported. Tobirama hadn’t been specific, but he didn’t have to be. 

Hashirama had taken his brother’s word for it. Even from the beginning, he had greeted the report of their being so conformable with excitement, but he had been… suspicious of how easy it seemed. The Hyuuga were the third largest clan in the Land of Fire, and they’d had the most to lose from the Uchiha and the Senju coming to terms. But Hashirama always tried to hope for the best in every situation.

Which brought him to the conundrum of his brother. There, he didn’t even know what the best case scenario would be. 

But he did know he was happy to see him alive and unharmed. The Hyuuga that came in behind him felt like a bonus.

Tobirama bowed.

“Hokage-sama, I’m honored to introduce Hyuuga Haruhi, daughter of the Hyuuga Clan Head, accompanied by Hyuuga Elder Wakashi, Hyuuga Asahi, Hyuuga Hitoro, and Hyuuga Megumi,” he said, and stepped aside.

The visitors all bowed and Hashirama beamed at them. 

“You are all more than welcome,” he said as he hopped up and came around the desk. He bowed himself, saying, “We are honored by your presence, and are eager to show you all that Konohagakure has to offer.”

They bowed again to him, and Haruhi spoke, “If all it can offer is a chance at a lasting, equitable, peace, I cannot think of anything more impressive.” then she straightened with a lax grin and said, “Though, Tobirama-san has painted quite the picture for it to live up to.”

Hashirama’s grin widened at both her words and her countantace. He had heard of the Hyuuga’s disdain for emotionality, and it was a relief to find that it was not universally true, even if the Hyuuga behind Haruhi remained perfectly expressionless. 

“I’m not surprised he’s managed to be so complimentary, since he’s contributed so much to its success.”

Which was true. If the last weeks had taught him anything, it was that, regardless of whatever anyone said or thought, Tobirama had been more crucial to the Village’s success than anyone thought, Hashirama included. 

Whether or not that was a good thing was much more open for debate. But he set that thought aside for now. Focus on the now.

“If his work on this Village has been as diligent as his work towards peace with my clan, then I look forward to seeing it’s results first hand. I’m sure they are most impressive.”

That was unexpected, surprising he supposed. His eyes jerked over to Tobirama. His brother had moved to stand, not directly between him and the Hyuuga, but at his side. As such, Tobirama wasn’t looking at him, was facing the Hyuuga _with_ him. But he noticed Hashirama’s gaze immediately, and raised an eyebrow at Hashirama’s look. 

Right. Focus.

“They are, if you don’t mind me saying so. We have accomplished much in so short a time. But for now, you must be tired from your long journey here. I’ve had rooms set up for you in my own home. There’s more than enough space,” he said, scratching the back of his head. The new Senju main house was as impressive as the old one had been and it filled him with a bit of guilt. It was a lot of space for one person.

Haruhi looked relieved.

“Thank you,” she said and bowed, “A proper bath would be nice.”

“I’ll bet,” Hashirama replied, “Tsubame-san?” 

The Uchiha kunoichi, who Madara had recommended for the task of guide and guard for their honored guest, stepped forward from where she had been guarding Hashirama’s door. 

“This is Uchiha Tsubame,” Hashirama said, gesturing to the masked woman, “She’s to be at your service.”

“Hyuuga-sama,” Tsubame said, and bowed, “Nice to meet you. Follow me?”

She waited patiently while Haruhi bowed again to Hashirama. Before the heiress went to follow her though, she smiled at Tobirama.

“I’ll see you soon, Tobirama-sensei? You owe me another spar?”

_Sensei_? When did the Hyuuga heir declare that level of connection with his brother, and why hadn’t Tobirama told him?

Tobirama bowed to her. “I am at your disposal, Haruhi-sama.”

The Hyuuga left them, following their new guide out of the office.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama said, holding up his brother before he could even begin to leave, “A moment?”

Tobirama hadn’t moved, but he nodded anyway. Hashirama only had to glance at his head guard and the room emptied. 

Hashirama was not as good at seals as his brother, but the privacy seals he flared to life were both top notch and ones he laid himself. Whatever was said in this office would not leave it, which was good because Hashirama had a lot to say.

The Hokage sighed.

“Welcome back, brother,” Hashirama said.

Crossing his arms, Tobirama nodded.

“Thank you, Hokage-sama.”

And Hashirama really, really didn’t want to have this conversation. He sighed heavily and went back to his desk, eager to have something between them, something to do, some way to hide how little he wanted to do this. Tobirama would pounce on his weakness if he showed any at all.

He always did.

“Did you need something else?” Tobirama asked before he’d even settled, “I’m sure we both have much to do.”

Tobirama had always had the most annoying habit of making truths sound like judgements. And somehow, Tobirama’s judgement was always best.

And the frustration that had been building since his and Madara’s conversation, since Tobirama left, since the first complaint against him had come in, since the first letter had arrived at the peace talks full of derision, since Izuna’s blood splattered against the wasteland stone. Since their other brothers died. Since he knelt next to their father and betrayed him. 

A lifetime of turmoil had cracked the ground between them and left it untraversable.

“You don’t feel the need to report to me what exactly happened on your mission?”

Tobirama shrugged. “It went as I have already reported.”

“And you have nothing more to say on it then. Nothing to explain?” Hashirama asked again, hoping that Tobirama would at least own up to the disaster of the last few weeks.

Instead, his brother’s scowl deepened. 

“Surely, it would be better to simply get back to work rather than quibble over what has already passed? After all, I have already submitted my official report.”

Quibble. _Quibble_.

“Is that all you think this is?” Hashirama asked, feeling his anger swell. 

“I think we have more important things to do,” said Tobirama, tone superior as it always was. 

“More important things than answering for the chaos your absence has caused?”

Tobirama’s hands tightened where they grasped his own arms, and all he had to say was, “Yes.”

“You-”

“My ‘absence’ was one that you yourself ordered. I hardly think tha-”

“I don’t care what you think!” Hashirama shouted, and finally, _finally_ brought Tobirama up short and made him pay attention. “You left us to flounder, and you have damaged, perhaps irreparable _my_ reputation.”

“I did as I was ordered,” Tobirama snapped back, unmoving. “If you couldn’t handle the backlash, then you shouldn’t have sent me.”

“_You_ gave no indication that there would be any backlash. You gave the impression of having everything in hand.”

“And it would have been, if anyone else in this village had any-”

“See!” Hashirama said, and he didn’t even realize the way he stood, knocking back his chair, cracking his desk as he slammed his palm down. “That’s exactly my point! You shouldn’t have been working on so many things in the first place!”

Tobirama didn’t back down an inch.

“I did as I was orde-”

“You were ordered to advise. To assist. _Not_ to take over the projects to the point where they couldn’t function without you!”

“Well, if anyone else was actually _competent_-”

“For Kami’s sake, Tobirama! We are supposed to be doing this _together_!” Hashirama snapped. “I’m sure you think that you are the only one smart enough to build this village, but you’re not the only one living here! The other Clans have a say! They have demands! They have opinions! You can’t dismiss them just because they’re not doing things to your _exact specifications_!”

“I’m not-”

“You are! Or else you wouldn’t take over everyone’s projects. You would let other people-”

“What?” Tobirama said, and Hashirama felt his brother’s chakra lashing out, clashing with his own, but it was too late to stop. “Let other people fail? If we delay over their incompetency-”

“_Yes_!” Hashirama interrupted him, answering Tobirama’s clearly rhetorical question. “Yes, because if we fail, then at least we’ve failed _together_.”

“That’s fallacious idiocy and you know it. We cannot show weakness. We cannot falter-”

But all Hashirama could hear was that, once again, Tobirama was dismissing his legitimate concerns with the idea that Hashirama was just too stupid to see the obvious, and it was as _infuriating_ as it had been the first time.

He might not have his brother’s genius, but he was not an _idiot_.

“And you think this last fortnight hasn’t shown weakness?” He snapped back, chakra swelling as it tried to overwhelm his torrential brother. “Do you truly not understand that this disaster of a week would have been entirely avoidable if you had even bothered to-”

Tobirama glared harder, laid his hand on his sword in the presence of his _brother_, and said, “I left instructions. You cannot blame me when they are not enacted-”

“You didn’t even mention it, not _once_, to _me_-”

“As if you ever listened-!”

“How _dare_ you,” Hashirama shouted, chakra surging to dwarf his brother’s ocean as it became clear that the time for games, the time for Tobirama to answer for himself and explain had long since passed. This was a reprimand from his Clan Head, from his Hokage, and he was in no way above answering for it.

At last, Tobirama seemed to understand because his mouth clamped shut, jaw clenching. He finally stopped interrupting.

“I am your Hokage,” Hashirama reminded his little brother, tone as even as he could make it even as his chakra still filled the room. “This is my village and you are my _younger_ brother. If I give you an order, you will fulfill it to the letter. And no further.”

Hashirama could see the way this command left his brother rankled, left him furious, but Hashirama didn’t care. 

He had one chance. One. To get through to his brother that this could _not_ continue. 

(If it didn’t work, Hashirama didn’t want to think about what he would have to do. Prayed that Tobirama would just please, listen, because Hashirama didn’t know if he had it in him to force him. _Please_.)

After a long moment, Tobirama, finally, bowed.

“My life and sword are yours, Anija. I am yours to command.”

Hashirama looked at his brother, bowing before him, in submission at last and knew he should feel satisfied, should be vindicated, but he just wanted to cry. Because his brother was proud and powerful, and Hashirama was so proud of him so often, but he was so stubborn and Hashirama _liked_ that, had always found it endearing, had never thought how it could tear them apart, and now that it had, it made him want to be sick. 

He _hated_ this. He didn’t want to fight. Didn’t want to have to bring his brother to heel. But if he had to in moments like this, situations like the one they found themselves in, he just wished Tobirama had it in him to concede. To talk to him without being _like this_.

They used to. He knew they did, but it felt so long ago.

Especially since, even with this, Hashirama didn’t _believe_ him anymore. Couldn’t believe the display of loyalty over the lack of the real thing. Not with the literal mountain of evidence to the contrary. He didn’t know what he could even do if Tobirama wasn’t sincere. If this didn’t _work_. 

It made him want to throw up. 

Please. Just listen. Just _understand_. Just let me take your word for it, he begged, hoping his brother could hear him this time.

“Then you will do as I command now, and while I am away, you will rebuild the bridges you’ve burned and lead the Village in the manner that you know I would have it run.”

Tobirama’s chakra was firmly under his control when he straightened, face like stone, and it sank a stone in Hashirama’s stomach to see it, but he couldn’t give in now. 

“Away?” Tobirama asked, voice flat.

A sour smile pulled at Hashirama’s lips. It should have been such happy news. 

“Whirlpool has finally agreed to the marriage contract. I leave tomorrow for the Fire Temple and the ceremony, before they have a chance to change their mind.”

“You’re getting married?” Tobirama asked, “But I thought…”

He trailed off, but Hashirama knew what he was asking. Tobirama was his only remaining family. He should be invited, should stand beside Hashirama in this. 

It was important to both of them. But it was also impossible.

“Given our recent troubles, and your now _international_ reputation, it was strongly suggested that you not attend.” 

Tobirama didn’t seem to have an answer for that, and the news didn’t seem to hurt him the way it had hurt Hashirama to receive it, which hurt in its own, special way.

Hashirama had never imagined a day when he would be getting married and there would be no one, no family, who could stand with him. Madara was coming, Touka would be there, but it wasn’t the same.

Tobirama was his brother. His _last_ brother. 

And no one, not even people halfway across the world, believed that he was still loyal, still loved Hashirama. It hurt almost as much as no longer being entirely sure of that for himself. But he let that pain harden his spine to steel. This marriage, this alliance was vital to the success of the village.

“Do you understand?” the Hokage asked.

Tobirama agreed as he nodded just a little woodenly, “I understand.” 

Nodding back, Hashirama watched as Tobirama bowed again, and turned to leave. 

But his younger brother stopped before the door.

“You are right,” Tobirama said, looking over his shoulder. “I understand that my social skills leave much to be desired, and that I should have left you better prepared. But if I have been overzealous in my work, it has only been in service to this Village. And to you.”

“Tobirama…” Hashirama didn’t know what to say as the guilt at not knowing whether or not that was a lie felt like it could choke him. 

He didn’t have time to figure out how to work past the lump in his, because Tobirama shook his head and continued. 

“Now is not the time,” he said. “We both have work to get back to, but still...” It was Tobirama’s turn to trail off and go searching for his words. “It is a good match, you and Princess Mito. Congratulations.”

And then he left and Hashirama couldn’t stand it, this, them anymore. He could barely pick up his chair to collapse into it.

How? How was he supposed to launch an investigation into his brother’s possible treason when he couldn’t even stand to argue with him? When just an argument left him feeling guiltier than he could stand? 

Even if they did find something, Hashirama didn’t think he could, he could-

The thought of it made him ill. He couldn’t. He _wouldn’t_.

Hashirama let his head drop into his hands.

Tobirama, the council, everyone. They were right.

He was weak.

-

Madara still dreamt of blood.

Some nights, the cold sweat that slicked his hands could still trick him, could still be Izuna’s blood spilling from a wound too deep to close. On nights like that, the doctor’s voice would be whispering in his ear, saying that there was no hope. Izuna would be trying not to cry out from the pain as they tried to put his organs back in, tried to stitch him together. 

The heat from the flame that took him would still burn hot on his face. Amaterasu had called him home.

Izuna hadn’t even had a moment to choke out his last words before he’d become ash in Madara’s wet hands.

He could still smell it.

Now, he rarely ever slept. Perhaps the Ghost had the right idea in keeping too busy to sleep.

The thought of Tobirama was, as always, suffocating. Sometimes, Madara could barely stand for thinking of him. It was beyond the riddle. It was the man, bloodsoaked. And burning. 

It was brutal, the feeling of vengeance, of aggression with nowhere to go, tempered by the proof that Tobirama was still here, still trying for peace. Hashirama, and all the Elders for that matter, could hang their suspicions on the outcome of Tobirama’s work. Madara had spent weeks just trying to catch up with it. 

So, maybe it was sabatoge, but Madara could think of a thousand better, easier ways for Tobirama to sabotage their peace attempts than working himself to death. 

Even if the gleam of his sword still flashed in the periphery of Madara’ dreams, just too fast for him to move, even when phantom thoughts of his brother, brothers, all lost, crept, waiting to overwhelm him, even if the Senju haunted the shadows of his darkest nights, Madara couldn’t reconcile the work that had come out of this very office with treason. Especially not when it was clear that the Ghost had ghosts of his own.

Echoed in the picture of two young boys in pride of place on the desk Madara sat at. 

He could barely stand to look at the photograph, at their smiles faded with age. The picture had seen more days than either of the boys in it were allowed.

Boys. Butchered. 

He knew their killers. Knew the men who had been toasted in celebration of their deaths. A few of those men had gone to their own graves by now, of course, but Kurosawa and Genki had retired and were living out their pensions in his good grace.

The longer he was here, the longer it, _they_, haunted him.

Moving the mission desk to Tobirama’s office had been simple. Practical. Everything needed was here. Every problem which sprung up seemed to have a solution buried in these drawers full of paper.

Madara had never considered that in doing so, in spending so many hours here, he would be inviting in yet more ghosts to haunt him.

He wondered what the boys would have been like, if they had been able to see now. Would they have been like Hashirama, indomitable in his quest for right action, peace by a measure other than force? Or would they have followed their other, equally formidable brother in his industry?

Would not the world have been better for it?

It had not been his decision to kill them, when they had died. It hadn’t even really been his father’s, for all that Tajima had been climbing the ranks at the time.

But even once his father had topped them, had become Clan Head as he’d always wished, he’d done nothing to curb the violence. Had instead revelled in his vengeance for his own dead children. 

More blood that filled Madara’s dreams. It splashed across his father’s face or spilled out of the mouths of the two boys in the picture frame, no longer smiling.

Madara too, had done nothing to stop it. Had dragged on the violence for _years_, rejecting every offer of peace Hashirama naively sent him.

Perhaps that was why he would forever feel Izuna’s blood on his hands. Perhaps it belonged there. 

“Madara-sama?”

Blinking up from the portrait he had been staring at again, Madara met the eye of the Nara who’d spoken.

Yano had his hands in his pockets, slouching even as he addressed Madara again. “It’s late now. I’m going to head home.”

Madara discreetly checked the time. It was past midnight, and the Senju they had both been waiting on had yet to show up. 

That Tobirama had returned early this morning was, by now, common knowledge. So too was that he’d been drafted into at least a dozen tasks before he’d even reached the Hokage tower with the Hyuuga heiress. Madara hadn’t been surprised when Tobirama had bypassed his office all together in favor of going straight to work. Irritated, yes, he had his own work for the man to be doing, but not surprised. He also knew that trying to chase the man down would have been an exercise in futility, and there was plenty else to do.

Still, he had hoped to catch him and at least introduce him to Yano, who would be his assistant now that the useless bitch was gone. Madara had spent the last few days bringing the man up to speed, though admittedly, it hadn’t taken as long as he’d thought it would. The Nara’s reputation for intelligence was well deserved. 

As was their reputation for informality when it came to hierarchy. It was likely too much of an annoyance to maintain false humility when they were almost always the smartest person in the room.

Madara had picked this one himself, on his Clan Head’s recommendation. If there was anyone who could keep up with the Senju, it was this one, he’d been assured. 

Whether he had the drive to or not had been questionable, but for all that Yano’s demeanor was lackadaisical, Madara had yet to give him a task that hadn’t been done quickly and efficiently. So far, he was satisfied, and thought Tobirama would be too.

If the man ever showed up, that was.

“Of course,” Madara said, “I apologize for keeping you so late.”

The Nara shrugged. “There’s plenty to do.”

In that, he was certainly correct. However, “I would have liked to introduce you to Tobirama today. I’m sure he has a better idea of what to prioritize.”

The shrug was followed with a sigh this time. “It’s troublesome, but I’m sure he was busy. It’s not like I won’t have another opportunity to meet him.”

That was true, Madara supposed. And he had his own headache brewing. He couldn’t imagine that seeing Tobirama again would help. 

The man was a headache personified. Madara had never felt so conflicted about anything as he did about Senju Tobirama.

Some days, he wanted to kill him. Even now, even still, he could hear Izuna’s ghost egging him on, demanding he avenge his brother.

And then he would pass Genki at the bath house or Kurosawa on the road and come here, to Tobirama’s office, to the picture of two murdered boys and wonder, if Tobirama had the restraint, how he could think to waver? 

Other times, he would remember the scent of the man’s skin, the cold of his hand as he pulled Madara from slumber and feel deep within himself an obsession that had the power to consume him.

Perhaps, instead, it would be better to just go home instead of lingering here to wait for the hurricane to make landfall.

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll-”

He felt him only a moment before he arrived. Chakra, as thrashing and intemperate as a storm at sea, flared out and flooded the space as the door slammed open. 

He should have remembered that Senju Tobirama was nothing if not contrary.

Storming across the office, not even sparing the Nara, or Madara for that matter, a glance, he went around the desk, toe to toe with Madara, who felt his own chakra want to flare in response to the threat. To the simmering rage. 

“Move,” Tobirama said.

This wasn’t what Madara had been expecting. 

“What?” he asked.

Tobirama _glared_. “I need in that drawer. Get out of my way.”

Scoffing to disguise how hard it was to breathe, Madara said sardonically, “Welcome back.”

But he moved out of the way. Not far enough that Tobirama wouldn’t have to come further into his space to do so.

Perhaps he was somewhat contrary too.

And the bracing feeling of Tobirama’s chakra was so close to him it felt like it licked his skin as it flowed out of the Senju, lashing and cold and briskly soothing. Madara hated how much he liked the way it settled around them, bracing. Like, all of a sudden, it was easier to breathe. 

It was infuriating. And it wasn’t. Whatever it _was_, Madra should be better than this, shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t have waited around for _hours_ for this. 

But he wasn’t. And he had. Now that Tobirama was finally here, finally back, Madara could barely take his eyes off him. Could feel himself being swallowed. 

Tobirama opened the drawer and scowled harder, evidently not finding what he was looking for, which was odd, but Madara wasn’t really focused on that.

The Nara, showing the intelligence his family was renowned for, read the room and made himself scarce without a word to either of them. After all, he could meet Tobirama at another time, when the man wasn’t so close to flying off the edge.

“How was your mission?” Madara asked, a peace offering that _wasn’t_. That was a stall.

“Successful,” Tobirama snapped back. “Where’s Taka?”

“Your assistant?” Madara asked, and Tobirama’s flat stare was answer enough. “Hashirama fired her the second day you were gone.”

Tobiramam sighed heavily, annoyed, and it was the most emotion Madara had ever seen him display outside of sex.

“Wonderful.”

The sarcasm was there, but Madara didn’t quite know the reason for it, wanted to dig under and find out. He’d never seen the Senju so unbalanced, so furious and emotional and _present_, not even when they’d fought, or even when they’d _fucked_, and it was just another puzzle that Madara _needed_ to solve.

“You can’t be upset about that. She was useless.”

A strong exhale, not quite a sigh, but definitely exasperation. Tobirama said, “I don’t have time to find and train another.”

“Ah,” Madara said, finally understanding, but still not at all. That couldn’t be _it_. That wouldn’t have inspired _this_. “I’ve already done that.”

Finally, Tobirama stopped looking for whatever it was he was trying to find, stopped everything, and looked up at him, eyebrow raised.

“The Nara who just left. His name is Yano. He should be up to speed by now.”

“Oh,” Tobirama said and blinked, going back to shuffling his papers around. “Thank you.”

Madara didn’t quite know what to do with the simple appreciation it ran so counter to his usual encounters with the Senju. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight under the carmine gaze. 

“You should hardly thank me. You’ll need _someone_ to stay here and manage things while we’re all at the wedding.”

Tobirama stilled.

“I’ll be staying here.”

“What?” Madara asked because he heard what Tobriama had said, but it didn’t make sense.

“I will not be attending my brother’s wedding.”

The words left his mouth without him really thinking about them.

“What happened? Did you get uninvited?”

If Tobirama had stilled before, Madara’s careless, vicious words may as well have turned him to stone. It took Madara too long to recognize that of course, that was probably exactly what happened.

He _knew_ how things were between Tobirama and the Hokage. Knew that they hadn’t been easy, knew of Hashirama’s fears, and the ways in which they were grounded; that it was possible that Tobirama was playing them all, every one of them, Madara included, for _fools_. It didn’t seem possible now, not with him here and so obviously hurt at the insinuation, but even beyond that... 

Something about seeing Tobirama here in this room, where Madara had been waiting for him, with the all encompassing feeling of the Senju being two feet from him, had immediately clouded his judgement. He couldn’t focus on anything but Tobirama and all of the thousands of contradictions and wants and guilts he represented just by existing. 

It hadn’t occurred to him that Tobirama might be _hurt_ by whatever Hashirama had said. It didn’t seem possible. The Senju Ghost didn’t _feel_ anything.

Only, Madara knew that wasn’t quite true. There was more than a photo on a desk to attest to that.

“... Sorry,” Madara said, because it had been uncalled for, no excuse. He finally, _finally_ took a step back out of Tobirama’s space.

The Senju glared at him.

“Shut up,” he said, and grabbed Madara by the front of his blacks and hauled him back over.

The kiss, if he could call it that, was bitting, and fierce, more teeth and tongue than tender lips and it was like _fire_.

This, _this_ was what Madara had been waiting for, but it felt wrong somehow. Like Tobirama was crazed and avoiding, and they shouldn’t be doing this, should _never_ have done this, but-

Even with that knowledge, it still took Madara a full minute to convince himself to pull back.

(The temptation to drown was so strong.)

“Wait,” Madara said, stopping Tobirama’s hands from where they’d gone to claw under his clothes. “Senju, we shouldn’t-”

“What?” Tobirama snapped out. “It’s only fine to fuck on your terms?” 

The furiously snide tone made Madara’s temper rise, his blood flow faster as rage and arousal both became more potent. 

He was trying to be kind. It was clear at least that Tobirama didn’t want that.

“No, but-” he tried again anyways, tried to stamp down the feeling and be rational, but Tobirama was having none of that. 

“Then shut up and fuck me.”

Okay. Madara had never been one for following orders, but that one was just too tempting, especially since Tobirama didn’t give him another moment to second guess.

Maybe that was what he had been waiting for in the first place. If there was one thing that this… _thing_ he had with Tobirama actually achieved was a moment, just one, where he couldn’t think about anything else. Not about fathers or brothers or blood. Only this.

It was consuming.

Madara didn’t try to talk again. Clearly, he had better things to do with his mouth.

-

Hikaku knew he was easily the most patient of all his kin.

It was an earned skill, one that had been bought with many hours of meditation and study. The Uchiha were an impetuous lot, but he’d found value in this skill-set, which left him much better suited to working subtly.

Genjutsus were not for the impulsive. They required concentration and careful planning, a quiet, subtle mind to trick someone else’s without them noticing. 

That didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed waiting for hours for Madara to get home. He didn’t have any other option though.

He had to speak with Madara before the Clan Head left for the Hokage’s wedding. Not doing so wasn’t even an option. It might have been, if he hadn’t run into Kenichi on his way home. And broken the bastard’s jaw. 

The asshole had actually tried to blame the mess they’d found the Hyuuga treaty in on Tsubame, because she’d told the fool no.

_”That bitch deserved it! And if I managed to catch the Senju bastard too, no one would care!”_

If the whole clan hadn’t been watching, if Kagami hadn’t been standing two feet from them, Hikaku might have left Kenichi’s brains splattered across the pavement.

His very distant cousin should count himself lucky that Hikaku hadn’t killed him, that he had only left him with a cracked jaw and orders to stay under house arrest until he said otherwise. Orders that would be _followed_. 

Unless Madara countermanded him, of course. Hikaku knew that Kenichi and his immediate family would no doubt appeal to Madara for a different judgement. He also knew that at least one of the clan’s healers had been talked into being sympathetic enough to heal the fracture Hikaku’s staff had left.

Which meant that Hikaku needed to talk to Madara first, even if that meant waiting until two in the morning for the man to get back to the compound. 

(At least didn’t have to worry about anyone getting to Madara outside of the compound. Say what you like about the divisions in their family; Clan business was Clan business. Joining a village hadn’t changed that.)

Still, the main house still felt like a temple of ghosts. 

The old one, back in the Uchiha heartland, had never felt like this. Hollow, cloying, a sadness brought through absence. That house had been full of life, a true heart and home for all their kin. 

Senju Tobiramam had taken that from them, may as well have torn it down with his own hands when he’d sent his blade though Izuna.

They could try and rebuild. Try and move forward, but unless they could come together, all their efforts would end up like this shell of a house where no one felt welcome anymore. 

Finally, _finally_, the main door opened and Madara came in. 

It only took Hikaku’s _sharingan_, already active in deference to the dark, one glance at Madara, from the sweat that still lingered, to the tousled hair, to the darkening bite marks on his neck, to realize where the other man had been. Or rather, what had kept him out so late.

“Hikaku,” Madara said. He didn’t seem all that surprised to see him. Embarrassed, annoyed maybe, but not surprised, “Welcome back.”

Hikaku decided quickly not to ask. Decided it was a good thing, a sign that Madara was, in some ways at least, recovering. And that it was none of his business. After all, it had only taken a month after the founding of the village for the first brothel to be licensed. If Madara wanted to partake in their services, as he’d been somewhat known to do, well, before, then Hikaku would choose to see it as a step towards normal.

And besides, they had much more pressing issues to discuss.

“We need to talk,” Hikaku said as Madara slipped off his shoes and stepped inside. 

“Yes,” Madara agreed, but walked past Hikaku into the darkened house. 

Hikaku followed.

Madara took them to the kitchen where he put on water for tea. And waited in the darkness while it boiled.

Hikaku let him take his time. He knew Madara’s temper could flare with the sudden rage of a backdraft, had experienced it first hand not but a few weeks ago, and he knew that his leaving the village without Madara’s permission might, rightly, inspire that same rage. It may have been one of the reasons he took the mission in the first place. 

He was sick of not knowing where they stood anymore. If it took outright disobedience to get Madara to hear him, then so be it. But he would be heard. 

So, both of them let the water heat to a boil in the still darkened kitchen. The _sharingan_ gave them night vision enough that the light of the moon streaming through the windows was more than sufficient. 

“You took the Hyuuga mission without my permission,” Madara stated. 

As if Hikaku was going to let _that_ be what they argued about.

“I had a bad feeling about it. One that was entirely justified.”

He thought about adding that he didn’t think Madara would have noticed, much less minded if he had, but it felt too petty for the gravity of the conversation they needed to have. 

This was about the Village, the peace itself, and the Uchiha’s place within it. 

Pouring the now steaming water over some instant tea, Madara seemed to weigh whether or not to drop his initial complaint. 

“A feeling you didn’t feel the need to discuss with me before you left for two weeks without any warning?” he chose to ask instead of allowing Hikaku the benefit of explaining himself..

“I tried to,” Hikaku said, “You weren’t listening.”

Madara’s gloves creaked as he clenched them around his teacup. It looked a hair away from breaking.

“So, you decided to just bypass my authority and just go? Leaving your Clan in chaos and your Clan Head to flounder without you?”

Hikaku had learned from his and Madara’s last conversation, and didn’t let himself be offended or sidetracked. Instead, he just shrugged, drawing Madara’s eye. 

“Just as well that I did. If I hadn’t, both Tsubame and Senju Tobirama might have been dead.”

The teacup in Madara’s hand shattered. Hikaku didn’t let himself flinch. At least he finally had his cousin’s attention. 

“What?” Madara snarled.

Hikaku sighed, not entirely on purpose. He was tired. 

“We approached the Hyuuga Lands under the presumption that Kenichi’s reports of their goodwill were accurate,” Hikaku explained. “They were not. We’d barely ventured past the protectorate into the Hyuuga homelands when we were intercepted by a hostile group of defenders, who were under the impression that we had come bearing war. An impression that, by all accounts, Kenichi had purposefully fed and fostered.”

The burst of absolute killing intent that came from his Clan Head was more potent than any Hikaku could remember feeling it since the war. 

It was as impressive as it had always been, but now, it was also somewhat reassuring. On some level, Hikaku supposed he’d been unsure whether Madara would believe him. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms after all, and getting through to him had been nearly impossible for months. Relief filled his veins in time with his rising adrenalin. 

“I’ll kill him,” Madara hissed. “Such subterfuge is _treason_-”

That was true. It was also, mostly, unhelpful.

“I know. I’ve dealt with it for now, but a stronger statement will need to come from you.”

Madara put down the cracked, leaking, steaming tea cup, and glared at Hikaku, _sharingan_ spinning. But he also didn’t fly off the handle, didn’t go to hunt down Kenichi right then. Progress, at least. Rationality. 

Hikaku would take it. Gladly.

“You think I should wait?” Madara asked. At Hikaku’s nod, he didn’t immediately disagree, and the positive feeling in Hikaku’s chest swelled to hope as Madara reigned in his killing intent. Especially when Madara actually asked him, “Why?” 

“Not for long, but there are other factors to consider.”

A beat of silence where Madara tilted his head at Hikaku, eerily reminiscent of the man’s hawks, but he also actually grew calmer. Hikaku sent out a quiet prayer to whatever deity had finally lessened grief’s hold on his cousin, and perhaps a quieter one to whoever’s arms he had spent the last hours in. It had clearly done wonders for Madara’s emotional instability. 

Whatever had helped, Hikaku wasn’t picky.

“Such as?” asked Madara, drawing Hikaku’s attention back from his ruminations.

“I don’t think I was the target. Or Tobirama.”

“So, he just meant to undermine the peace then. That’s much better,” the Clan Head said sardonically, full of malice.

There was a promise of violence in that tone, one that Hikaku was, for once, happy to hear, even if he had to disagree.

“No, I don’t think so,” Hikaku mused.

“What then?”

“When I confronted him earlier, he admitted that his actual target had been Tsubame, who was originally assigned to the mission.”

“You’ve spoken to him,” Madara said flatly.

“If you want to call it that. I broke his jaw.”

It wasn’t an apology, considering Hikaku didn’t feel bad about it in the slightest. Perhaps it should have been, considering he’d completely bypassed Madara’s authority to mete out his own judgement, but he’d been one of the offended parties, and well within his rights. He also knew that some would see it as an attempt to usurp Madara’s authority anyway, hence his needed to speak with Madara _now_, before any rumors of a dispute between them could spread and add fuel to tinder ready to catch alight. 

He needed Madara’s support. Now, more than ever. It was nice to see that he had it, plain as the vicious satisfaction on his Clan Head’s face. 

“Good,” Madara answered him. “But it’s not nearly enough.”

“I agree, but it’s more complicated than that,” Hikaku said. When Madara waited for him to continue, Hikaku crossed his arms and did so. “I believe that Kenichi was intending to use Tobirama’s presence on the mission as a smokescreen for his true target. He thought, as I’m sure many in the clan do, that you would not object to any _accident_ that resulted in the death of the Ghost.”

Hikaku watched very carefully for Madara’s reaction, because this was the moment of truth, the moment where he would be able to see clearly exactly how far Madara had come. If he couldn’t see past his need to avenge Izuna and see the larger picture than this whole conversation was moot. The problems wouldn’t cease regardless of his efforts here if Madara still sanctioned violence on Izuna’s killer over the problems it could pose the Village’s peace.

Suddenly, it felt as though the very air was heavier. It wasn’t killing intent. It was somehow both more potent and less. It almost felt worse.

“_What?_” Madara snarled. This, this was rage. It was what Hikaku had been worried about, but somehow not what he expected. “They think I hold my honor so cheaply?”

It was Hikaku’s turn to be confused and it must have painted across his face because Madara continued.

“I signed the Peace Treaty,” he said, “I gave my word it would not be broken on our account. How dare they?”

Swallowing, Hikaku knew he had to say something if they wanted to avoid a massacre. 

“They were thinking that you would thank them. They were doing it _for_ you.”

“_I_ act for this clan. No one else.”

“Yes, but you haven’t acted in months. So _I_ did.”

“Fine job you’ve done of it if our family thinks they will be rewarded for breaking the peace.”

It was a low blow, one that was in no way justified, and Hikaku wasn’t a saint. His temper was a slow burn, but once it caught, it could be as potent as any other Uchiha.

“Maybe if I had _any_ support from the actual Clan Head, it would not have gone this far!”

“I don-”

Hikaku wasn’t interested in letting him finish, and just continued shouting over his cousin, “You weren’t there! _I tried_. I tried to warn you that this clan was splitting down the seams, that your authority and _ability_ to rule was slipping away but you wouldn’t listen! I had to _leave_ to get you to do anything at all! And I might not have returned. That’s how it has become!”

Silence again. Ringing. Only punctuated by pounding hearts, heavy breaths, and the splitting sense of words already said. 

As far as Hikaku was aware, this was only his second time, ever, shouting at Madara. 

But unlike the first time, Madara _didn’t_ lose his temper. Instead, he stared at Hikaku as if seeing him for the first time. 

Then he sighed. 

“You’re right.”

Hikaku nearly had to take a step back, he was so surprised. Whatever he’d been expecting, a concession wasn’t it.

The slight smile Madara sent him was more apologetic than Hikaku had seen from him in years. Not since the last time Madara and Izuna had really fought. 

Madara said, “I know I have let my grief blind me to many things. That cannot be undone. But you have done your best to carry this Clan. I’m sure my silence has been more taxing than even my death would have been. There is no doubt that after me, you would be the only logical choice for Clan Head, and could have simply acted rather than waiting for permission that wouldn’t come.”

“... Don’t say that.”

Madara cocked his head again, but Hikaku felt sick. He didn’t want to think about it, had already buried one beloved cousin this year. He didn’t want to think about what losing Madara too would have done to him.

“You’re my cousin, and I love you,” said Hikaku, and it was Madara’s turn to blink in surprise. “I would never wish for a world without you in it, even when I’m furious with you. So, don’t even think it.”

It took Madara a worryingly long time to nod. But he did, stilted but sure, so Hikaku let himself go back to the problem at hand.

“You are also our Clan Head, and everyone, myself included, looks to you for leadership. Your silence on the matter of Senju Tobirama has let the situation grow out of control.”

“How so?” Madara asked. 

Hikaku didn’t sigh. He didn’t.

“Have you _still_ not read my report on the border mission?”

“I’ve been rather busy,” Madara justified, and took Hikaku’s unimpressed look for what it was. “Tobirama’s absence had unintended consequences. We’ve only just gotten things back under control.”

“So I’ve heard. It’s no excuse.”

Madara clearly wanted to argue, but as he should have read it weeks ago, he didn’t really have a leg to stand on and he knew it. So, he didn’t argue a moot point. “Fair enough. What happened then?”

Wishing Madara could have just read the damn thing and saved Hikaku the awkwardness of trying to explain, especially now, when any action of retribution would be too little too late, Hikaku picked his words very carefully. He needed Madara to remain calm.

“On the mission, Tobirama reported a friendly fire incident.” Madara nodded, so Hikaku continued, “It was Saito. He stabbed the Senju in the back when Tobirama was defending us from the enemy.”

“He did _what_?”

Hikaku was too tired for this.

“_Calm down_,” he insisted, but didn’t wait for his Clan Head to do so before continuing. “Tobirama is fine. He healed himself before we had even left the field. But he also refused to accept any retribution. Said the peace was more important.”

“And you didn’t _tell_ me.”

“I reported it. I waited for you to read the report. I reminded you about it. And you still did nothing.”

“Writing it in a report is not the sam-”

“I wasn’t sure if you weren’t just ignoring it on purpose.”

This time, Madara’s anger was, while silent, writhing, and pointed at least to some degree at Hikaku. 

Who might honestly have deserved it. He didn’t know Tobirama then, but he should have known enough to not let the matter slide. But he’d let Madara avoid it, and in doing so avoided it himself. It hadn’t felt like that was what he was doing at the time, but it had taken _days_ to confront his cousin about it, and that had been due to cowardice. He didn’t want to be wrong about his cousin’s morality, so he hadn’t even really tried to challenge it.

A deadly mistake, as it turned out.

“I’m sorry,” Hikaku said. “I should have known better. But regardless, it’s too late to address that now. I’ve had Saito on a long milk-run to the Togarashimi lands ever since.”

The Togarashimi lands were known for two things: spice trade and their swampland. Hikaku hoped Saito was enjoying malaria. 

“Besides, if you take further action against him now, it will look like you’re disagreeing with the action I’ve already taken, or worse, that you didn’t know what was going on in your own Clan.”

“I _didn’t_ know,” said Madara, eyes downcast, sounding disgusted with himself.

“I know,” Hikaku said. “It’s alright. I covered for you, and you know now.”

“Still…” 

The guilt, while appreciated, helped no one.

“What’s more important is dealing with Kenichi.”

Madara only needed a moment before nodding his agreement. When he looked up again, his eyes were determined. 

“You don’t think I should kill him?” he asked, and this time it didn’t feel like Madara was actually questioning him for the sake of disagreeing. Rather, it sounded like a test. 

“No,” Hikaku answered. “I think you should make an example of him.”

“What do you recommend?”

Again, it seemed like Madara was actively curious. Like he wanted to know exactly how Hikaku would proceed were he in Madara’s position, and Hikaku suddenly knew where this conversation was heading and chose his words carefully.

“I think you should summon him forward for questioning your authority. And then I would break him.”

“Permanently?” Madara asked, and Hikaku _thought_ about it.

Madara could cripple Kenichi, easily. But then he would forever be a burden on his family. Not entirely a bad thing, considering the purpose of the exercise. But…

“No, I don’t think so,” he said casually, as if they weren’t discussing a man’s fate. “With the Hyuuga here, it’s too dangerous to let word of possible treason leak out. I’ve mended bridges with them as best I could, and made it out as a simple misunderstanding of orders, but if you punish him for treason, then that implication of treason will taint our entire Clan in the eyes of the village. Rather, punish him for Tsubame, and for his questioning of your authority. Crippling might be too severe for that crime.”

Madara nodded thoughtfully.

“However,” Hikaku continued. “I would make sure he can never seal again.”

Weighing him, Madara asked, “Are you sure?”

Because Hikaku had to be sure. A shinobi’s ability and livelihood depended on their ability to create the hand seals for jutsus quickly and efficiently. If Madara took that ability from him, Kenichi would never work as a shinobi again. 

But Hikaku _was_ sure. They didn’t need shinobi who thought that petty grudges justified murder. If Kenichi hadn’t learned that, then there was no hope for him regardless.

“I’m sure.”

Madara nodded again. This time, it was in full agreement, and Hikaku wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. 

“I will speak with the Hyuuga heiress before I leave tomorrow and make proper amends,” Madara said. Then he placed a hand on Hikaku’s shoulder and said, “You’ve done well.”

“What?” Hikaku said because he didn’t understand.

“As acting Clan Head. You’ve done well. I haven’t said so before, but it’s true. Thank you.”

Sometimes, often, Hikaku felt older than he was. On the battlefield, commanding their shinobi, his age was just a number. But right now, he just felt like a nineteen-year-old being acknowledged in a job well done by someone they loved and admired. 

It felt good. 

“Thank you, Madara-sama.”

“None of that,” Madara said, patting Hikaku’s shoulder once before dropping his hand. “Especially since I plan to leave you in charge while I’m away.”

“Wh-Really?” Hikaku asked as Madara walked past him. 

“Of course,” the Clan Head said over his shoulder, “There is no one else.”

That was true, Hikaku supposed. It was hardly a ringing endorsement though, and he tried not to be disappointed.

Madara sensed it anyway it seemed, because he said, “Even if there was, there is no one else whose judgement I trust more.”

His smile, small though it was, sent a burst of confidence through Hikaku that he hadn’t felt in years. He tried not to blush. 

But then Madara turned forward again, back fully to Hikaku, and his posture seemed to change, straighten, harden, from the lax stance he’d adopted. 

“This time,” he said into the dark, “They will know that your authority is mine, and any who question it are questioning _me_.”

He looked back, just to make absolutely sure that he held Hikaku’s attention enraptured as he vowed.

“I will make _certain_ of it.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> So my dreams of updating weekly have proven themselves to be just that: Dreams. I had such hopes, but they were quickly dashed as this chapter turned out to be a major pain in the neck. It's easily the longest and has had possible the most scenes re-written multiple times. Super rude, but I've got to say, I'm really happy with how it turned out in the end. Huge shout out to LostInThePines for sticking with me and holding my hand through all of the re-writes and all of the "try again"s. Really, there isn't a better cheerleader anywhere in the world.
> 
> All of that aside, I don't have much to say about this one other than that I hope you love it as much as I do and let me know what you think! Comments are always lovingly devoured to feed my creative soul <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: Slight cliffhanger ahead.

He’d been waiting all day.

Izuna had spent it doing, surprise surprise, _nothing_, had tracked the pass of the sun marching across the sky through its warmth from the window, had felt the anxiety creep under his skin as he waited. And waited. Through the afternoon sun and the evening chill, through the agonizing hours of time ticking by with no word, until the day had grown dark beyond eyelids that still refused to open. Hours past evening. 

It felt like all he did now was wait. He hadn’t liked it when it was a voluntary activity, but now that he had no choice, he loathed it.

The clone tried to fill the hours, droned on about something that Izuna wasn’t listening to. Unlike the real Tobirama, the clone didn’t seem to know when Izuna wasn’t paying attention and so couldn’t call his focus back from when it wandered. Besides, he was wise to Tobirama’s plan by now, and if the Senju thought that _Izuna_ of all people was in any way capable of carrying on his research, he had another thing coming. The clone could talk all day; Izuna wasn’t listening, and if Tobirama didn’t like it, he could actually _get home_ and do something about it.

He really didn’t want to think about what could be keeping the Senju. 

Even the clone was growing antsy as the time dragged by into what must have been the small hours of the morning. 

Finally, the door downstairs opened, and it felt like deja vu from the last time the Senju had left for days. Left and came back bloody. Izuna heard the clone sigh impatiently from where it had been sitting, stand, and leave the room.

It met its caster on the stairs and asked, “Where have you been?”

Which seemed… odd. Rude, which the Senju himself was, but Izuna had never really thought the clones could be so independent. 

Regardless, Tobirama didn’t say anything back, but the distinct pop of the clone being dispelled was answer enough. 

The Senju, the real one, must have been, stumbled, staggered up a step and cursed, and Izuna's heart rate jumped in time. Heavy breathing, pained and rushed slowly came back under control as Tobirama seemed to recover his feet.

Izuna felt the hum of anxiety creep, growing stronger with every heavy step up the stairs until finally, _finally_, Tobirama himself was back in the room with him. 

Izuna would recognize that chakra anywhere. It couldn’t be anyone else. Even if the Senju didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge Izuna for a long moment. 

In that moment, the anxiety quickly turned to frustration. He had been waiting without word for weeks. Without hearing a single _real person_ speak. 

(Had been stuck in this bed for _months_.)

And now Tobirama wouldn’t _talk to him_.

“I see you’re pleased to see me safe returned,” Tobirama said, the sarcasm biting.

… _What? No that’s not-_

“Not that I blame you, of course. I should not have expected otherwise.” 

It was amazing how, with just a few words, the Senju could twist and turn Izuna’s emotions, his truths, his foundations, to _guilt_. That in itself was frustrating, especially when all Izuna could figure out how to send was a firm negative.

The cat, apparently disturbed by it, or otherwise just a master of coincidence, hopped down from the bed, and meowed its way over to the doorway where Tobirama still stood. There, it must have twinned between his feet, because Izuna could hear the other man exhale, could hear the creak of his leather and clack of his lacquered armor as he bent over to pick it up. He also heard the exhausted sigh the man let out with the motion.

“No?” the Senju mused, “Or just negative feelings in general?”

Footsteps, purposeful and considerate in their volume, approached Izuna’s bed. It dipped as the cat left Tobirama’s arms to land beside Izuna, meowing in protest at _something_.

The Senju’s hand came down to rest on Izuna’s sternum. The familiar feeling of Tobirama’s chakra filling his dormant, sickly system was somewhat of a relief, even if it still, _still_ felt diminished. It still felt cool, clear and bracing, like a snowmelt stream cutting a path. Uncomfortable, but quiet and cleansing.

And searching? More so than usual, than it had been in a while. 

Then, the hand on his chest twitched, flinched, and Tobirama sighed, his chakra retreating, leaving the irritatingly hollow feeling behind.

“In the interest of keeping you informed, I may have found a breakthrough in regards to your condition.”

Wh-How? He wasn’t even here! How was that possible?

“Seems the _doujutsu_ of the Hyuuga allows them to see the chakra systems of their opponents. That they can seal it with a touch.”

Yes, Izuna had heard. He himself hadn’t been on the receiving end, too quick for any Hyuuga unlucky enough to encounter him, but he’d heard from cousins that it hurt like a bitch.

“I had an opportunity to spar with one on my recent mission, and the sensation was eerily similar to how your own chakra system feels. It is possible that the ways in which I remedied the sealing of my own system can be used to restore chakra circulation in your own.”

Izuna felt his heart pound.

His family had been fighting the Hyuuga for as long as Izuna had been alive and none of them had ever found a way to reverse their devastating technique. Of course, _of course_ Senju Tobirama would be able to overcome it in the length of a single spar, but also-

This could be it. Sure, Tobirama had tried things before, had tried half a dozen things to no success, but he hadn’t had _anything_ to try in months. Not a single hypothesis had gone untried, and the Senju had been clear enough that he had run out of options.

This though, this one actually sounded promising, even to Izuna.

It Tobirama had already tried it- had already felt it, and said it was _possible_-

But then the Senju _sighed_.

Not like before. This one sounded ragged, heavy, and exhausted. 

“I don’t have the energy to explore the possibility further tonight, nor likely any time in the near future.”

… Pardon? He must be mishearing.

A breakthrough. They were _close_. Maybe, but how could Tobirama _wait_.

“I understand your frustration, but the only way to reverse the sealed tenketsu point that I’ve found thus far is an immense infusion of chakra. Chakra that I don’t presently have. Were I to attempt it while this exhausted, the consequences to my own health could be catastrophic, and that is not something that I can currently risk,” Tobirama said, perfectly rationally and reasonably in the way that made Izuna want to punch him in the face. That the Senju actually sounded contrite only made it worse.

“Apologies, but with my brother and yours leaving, it’s simply too dangerous for me to also endanger myself. It would leave the village both defenseless and leaderless. More so than they already are.”

Leaving? Going where? His aniki too?

Damn it all. Izuna thought he’d enjoy purgatory more than this endless helpless state. It was only made worse when Tobirama didn’t elaborate, didn’t explain the way Izuna had been waiting for him to. 

_Please. Talk to me. I’m going crazy here_.

But Tobirama didn’t. Instead, the Senju straightened with a nearly inaudible sigh. Again.

Okay. The frustration was quickly leeching to worry.

“I am sorry. I had considered not telling you about my new theory until I had the time and energy to test it, but it felt dishonest. In any case, it seems like I shall have little of either to spare for the foreseeable future, as I will be serving in my brother’s place until his return.”

He didn’t continue for a long while. The cat paced back and forth along the bed in between where Tobirama stood and Izuna laid, bobbing and weaving for Tobirama’s attention. Izuna couldn’t tell if the other man gave it, but he did know that when the man went to leave the room, footsteps just as loud as before, that the cat went with him, the traitor. 

Izuna wanted to know more, wanted to ask. Wanted to know why their brothers were leaving, where they were going, what was happening-

Wanted to know about the mission that had kept Tobirama away so long-

Wanted to know why he was so late returning-

Wanted to know _why_-

Wanted to see the Village and the peace with his own eyes, wanted to know what was worth so much sacrifice. 

Wanted to hel-

Izuna didn’t know _what_ he wanted, other than out of this fucking bed. But it seemed that was not going to happen tonight, so soon even, given the ribs rattling sigh Tobirama released before he spoke again, leaving the cat and Izuna on the bed.

“I need to go rest,” the Senju said as he crossed the room away from them, “You should be alright for a few hours, and as I will need to be at the Hokage’s Tower before dawn, I cannot imagine I will get more than that.”

Tobirama paused in the doorway and seemed to hesitate.

“It seems,” Tobirama began, “That I was incorrect. My brother was apparently not aware of a multitude of the orders I have received in his name. The sabotage I had assumed your clan solely responsible for is clearly far more widespread than I had feared.”

… well that did nothing for his anxiety. Especially since it matched Izuna’s own fears so exactly. 

This, all that Tobirama had told him, seemed too big, too reckless to be happening under his aniki’s nose, and Madara was many things, but he wasn’t an oathbreaker. If he had actually agreed to the peace, and move their entire family into harm’s way, then he could be nothing but serious about keeping to the terms of the peace agreement, even the one that no doubt specified an end to all hostilities, up to and including any against Tobirama.

Avenging ran deep in their blood, and grudges were not easily put aside, but they were also a rather straightforward lot. If they were going to try and kill Tobirama, they would just do it (or attempt to do it). Which they had, apparently, but it wasn’t just that. Couldn’t be just that. The troubles that the Senju had described seemed too much and too thought out for it to just be a quest for revenge.

Tobirama interrupted his line of thought with a quiet, heartbreaking confession.

“In some ways, I am,” Tobirama paused and seemed to search for the word, “relieved that it is not the Hokage’s doing. Even if it does raise much more dangerous questions.”

A longer, heavier pause that set Izuna’s teeth on edge. 

“If it were truly Hashirama’s doing, the course of action was clear. Now that I know that is not the case, there are decisions to be made, and information which needs to be gathered. I need to discover who is perpetrating this sabotage, and to what purpose? Am I the target, or a pawn on the field? Whoever is behind this has judged me well, as it seems that I have played inadvertently right into their hands. They have set my own brother against me, though I do not know how or why.”

So many variables, too many to count, and Izuna was _useless_ here.

“As of yet, I can only guess. I suppose I have this week to find out, but if it is the Village itself that they seek to destroy, then they will find no easy pickings here.”

Izuna didn’t need to open his eyes to see, clear as glass, the way Tobirama must be standing. Indomitable. 

Once, when it had faced his own family, it had terrified him. Now, he just hoped it would be enough. 

“This is the future. And I will do whatever is necessary to protect it.”

-

Blood was splattered on the flagstones. 

The audience was silent. The gasping sobs from the broken body in the courtyard and the purposefully heavy footsteps of the Clan Head who passed it rang out in the deafening silence.

Hikaku didn’t even spare the blood a glance as he followed Madara through the still pooling red around the broken man who lay crippled there, sobbing, curled around his useless hand. He felt the eyes of his entire clan on him and Madara equally and didn’t care.

Hikaku supposed he would just have to get used to the eyes following him. 

Everyone would look to him now. Madara had made sure of that. 

_“You have dishonored our clan with your actions and_ endangered _the peace. In doing so, you nearly cost me my right hand out of cowardly spite. So, I shall remove yours.”_

_“Madara-sama, please-”_

Begging had done him no use, and with the whole clan watching, Madara had passed judgement and his sentence in less than the blink of an eye. 

But the _sharingan_ missed nothing. And there was not a face in the crowd that would soon forget this. Madara had more than made his point. 

Good. They should know the cost of disloyalty.

The blood lingered dripping from Hikaku’s footsteps all the way to the entrance to the Uchiha compound. Madara, always a respectful four feet in front of him, said nothing else until they had reached it. 

“Elder Sanada has been handling most of the day-to-day Clan matters, but I’ve left instructions that he should defer to your judgement in my stead. I trust you will have no issues.”

After that display, Hikaku didn’t doubt it, and said so. 

Madara nodded, and looked out over the empty streets. Dawn was just beginning to break, and soon the village would be buzzing, all those bound for the Hokage’s wedding long since on their way. 

“In the meantime, I expect you will be assisting Tobirama in running the village. I suspect he will need all the help he can get.” 

Hikaku nodded even though Madara wasn’t looking at him and said, “I plan to head there presently and get an early start.”

“Hm,” Madara answered. His eyes, coal now that the red rage of the _sharingan_ had diminished, slid over to Hikaku. He didn’t tell him that he should rest, that he’d just returned and had been up late waiting for Madara to return home, that he likely looked as exhausted as he felt.

Madara didn’t say any of that because he knew it wouldn’t help. Hikaku had his duty. 

Instead, he kept to his word and trusted Hikaku’s judgement to do what was best. 

Hikaku would be lying if he said the confidence didn’t still humble him. He would earn the respect given, even if it killed him. 

“I must leave now if I’m to meet the Hyuuga heiress before we leave,” was all Madara said instead, “I will see you in a week.”

Madara’s hand, gloved and remarkably free of blood, was warm and reassuring as it came down on Hikaku’s shoulder. 

“Take care, cousin. Try not to let the place burn down until after we return.”

The teasing there hadn’t been present for months, and the smile Hikaku returned was more relieved than it would normally have been, but he couldn’t help it. 

It was good to see Madara smile.

“Shouldn’t be a problem now that you’re leaving,” Hikaku teased back, so unspeakably happy to just be able to still do this, have this, not that he would ever say. He thought Madara might know anyways. “Try not to embarrass us in front of the Princess.” 

Madara snorted and took off down the street, heading to the right, to the Senju compound no doubt, where the Hyuuga were staying.

Watching him go, Hikaku waited until Madara was out of sight. 

Even with how exhausted he was, he couldn’t help the hope blooming in his chest. 

It would be a good day.

Things would be fine.

He turned to the left, and headed towards where the Hokage Tower loomed in the distance, determined to make a good start.

-

It wasn’t that Mitari didn’t like Tobirama. They were family, after all. But it, the man himself and all that surrounded him, was complicated. Everyone knew it, and no one knew what to do about it. 

For one thing, Tobirama was strong and brilliant. He was a clear asset to the Senju Clan. Mitari knew that. Everyone knew that.

He was also an asshole.

Not intentionally, Mitari thought, but that was somehow _worse_.

Most people thought the man was soulless. That’s why he’d been born without color. 

Mitari knew that was unfair. Tobirama had a soul. It might be cold as ice, but he was sure it was there. Mostly sure.

Other times, he’d try to work with him and would become so demoralized he began to doubt.

Thing was, Mitari was good at his job. He’d been Hashirama’s aide for years. Had drafted legislations and run Clan meetings, represented the Senju Clan _successfully_ to the Daimyo on five separate occasions, for Sage’s sake. He was far from incompetent. 

For that, Hashirama had always been generous with both his praise and gratitude, always worried that Mitari was the one working too hard, as though the Senju Clan Head wasn’t working himself into the ground. It was easy to work for such a man, to want to be worthy of the praise he gave out for a job done right. 

Working under Tobirama was a different story entirely.

It was brutal. It was constant, pervading dread. Like waking in the middle of the night unable to remember what you were dreaming about or where you even are and you _know_ you’ve forgotten something vitally important, something life-changing “people are going to die” important, and you have no idea what it is or was or what is happening but your heart is beating seven thousand times a minute and you can’t calm down at all. That feeling. That was what it was like working under Tobirama all the time. 

All the time. 

And Mitari was going to be stuck with him for an entire week. 

He could feel an anxiety attack coming on and the day hadn’t even started yet.

But no. No. He could do this. He would not let Tobirama get to him. They had too much to do. He was a shinobi of the Senju, of the Village Hidden in the Leaves, and he could do this. 

He was surprised to find that when he got to his office ten minutes early that he had been beaten there. 

The Nara that Madara had chosen to replace Taka was sitting at _his_ desk. Had his feet up on it while he read a scroll.

So much for the Nara reputation for being lazy.

Mitari had mixed thoughts about this particular Nara. On the one hand, he’d replaced Taka, which had been embarrassing for Mitari, who’d recommended her for the position. He’d gone to see her the evening after Hashirama had sacked her and asked what happened.

_“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t keep up. It’s impossible.”_

She’d been crying and he understood why. Tobirama’s demands for perfection were impossible for anyone to keep up with, even for someone as impressive as Taka. It broke his heart a bit to see his friend so humiliated and _hurt_.

She had been set up for failure, and Mitari had a hand in it. He should have tried to help her more, or been more receptive to her complaining. Clearly, things had been worse than she’d been letting on. 

The Nara represented that failure. 

But worse still, he was a stranger. From an outside clan. He had no idea what he was getting into with Tobirama. 

Recommended or not, Yano had a task that had been proved to be impossible in front of him, and Mitari had no doubt that he would fail the same way everyone else who attempted to keep up with the indomitable intellect of the younger Senju had before. Even people who _knew_ Tobirama well, who had known him since childhood, could barely keep up with him.

But, the Nara had been appointed to his position fairly. Even if Madara had recommended him, Yano had been approved by Hashirama himself, and Mitari was willing to give anyone a shot if it didn’t mean that he had to pick up the job himself (because he desperately did not have time for that). Besides, the Nara Clan were supposed to be brilliant, or at least _they_ thought they were. Maybe another ego as big as his own would give Tobirama a run for his money. 

Mitari nearly sighed at himself. He was being discourteous already. 

Remember: be positive, he told himself, knowing he’d continue telling himself that for the rest of the week. It already felt stale on his tongue. 

“Good morning,” he said, addressing the man (whose feet were on Mitari’s desk and his butt in Mitari’s chair like he belonged there) briskly, but with a smile as he strode over to offer a handshake. It never hurt to be polite to the people he was going to be working with, even when they were being rude. “You’re in early. Good. I’m Mitari.”

The Nara eyed him as he _didn’t_ take his feet of Mitari’s desk. Instead of straightening and taking Mitari’s hand, he just nodded at him, and said, “Yano. And not early enough. Tobirama’s been here at least two hours already.”

Mitari put his hand down. His heart rate doubled as he looked towards the closed door to the Hokage’s office, where the Ghost no doubt already haunted.

See? This is what Mitari meant. It wasn’t even seven in the morning, and Mitari already felt like he’d failed somehow, even though Hashirama didn’t get in until eight and there was no way for him to know Tobirama would be in at six am. Who even did that?

The door to the Hokage’s office opened, and out strode Uchiha Hikaku, his arms full of paperwork. 

Yano nodded at the younger Uchiha as he passed and said, “Good luck.”

Grinning back, Hikaku replied, “Thanks. I think I’ll need it.”

Oh, right. Tobirama was taking over Hashirama’s work, so someone would have to take over his. It made sense that Madara would pass it off to his own deputy. 

“Let us know if you need any assistance, Uchiha-san,” Mitari said.

Hikaku sent him a bemused smile, but nodded and left. 

“We should get in there,” the Nara, Yano, said as he sat up, feet finally off his desk.

What? No. Mitari needed to prepare, needed to organize-

But Yano was already standing, slouching, hands in his pockets and strode right over to the door. Went in, fearless and _stupid_.

Oh, Sage. He wasn’t ready, but too late now. He followed the clearly insane Nara into the office. 

Tobirama’s eyes, so unlike his brother’s warm and welcoming brown, cut bloody across the space and nearly stopped him in his tracks.

_Ghost_.

“You’re late,” he snapped at Mitari, who was actually early, not that it apparently mattered. “Nara, I need the-”

Yano, inexplicably, seemed to know what Tobirama was talking about already, and placed the scroll he’d been reading (with his feet on Mitari’s desk) into Tobirama’s outstretched hand. 

The man didn’t even look at the Nara, didn’t nod, or take a second to appreciate the impossible feat the other man had performed at being a step ahead of Tobirama demands, and just began reading it.

Less than a second later, he shook his head. “What is this?” The Ghost snarled, glaring at first the Nara, then Mitari, who couldn’t help but be offended on the Nara’s behalf. “I told you I needed the silk merchant’s current agreement with Konoha, not the one that we created when we first started the village six months ago.” 

“Uh,” said Mitari, who had never been told any such thing. “We haven’t renegotiated with them, so that should be the current-”

Tobirama’s glare shut him up, lips flat even as his eyes flashed. “Then why,” he growled, “are these figures thirty percent more expensive than the rate we agreed upon?”

“I don’t-” Mitari tried to remember if there had been anything, but he was drawing a complete blank.

“Are you not my brother’s aide?” 

Mitari gulped, and straightened. “I-”

“There was a fire last month in that region,” said the Nara, rescuing him. “It’s likely that a portion of the cocoon crop was damaged.”

Tobirama glanced at Yano and then back at the document before nodding. “Fine. But where is the paragraph stipulating that these rates are temporary due to hardship?” 

“I’ll make sure it’s added,” said Yano, sounding like the matter of going down to the scribes and having them completely redraft the three meter long trade agreement was something that was going to be easy. 

“Now,” Tobirama said, completely switching gears with all the warning of a lightning bolt. “What is on the agenda for foreign affairs?”

Mitari cleared his throat.

It was true that Tobirama had taken over a number of domestic projects, but Hashirama had his hands full with the international relations.

“The news from the Land of Lightning is… disturbing,” Mitari began.

Tobirama nodded, “The Nagao and Yotsuki Clans.”

Mitari nodded in return, somewhat surprised that Tobirama already knew about the situation, (he had only sent over the Hokage’s papers the evening before, after all) but perhaps he shouldn’t have been. It figured that he would manage to find time to look it all over in the less than ten hours since it had been delivered.

Part of Mitari had been hesitant to trust Tobirama with the information at all. By now, everyone had heard the ‘rumors’ around Tobirama’s probable usurpation. Hashirama had dismissed them, and Mitari would never be so bold as to disagree with his Clan Head, now Hokage, but, privately, he’d questioned the wisdom in sharing information with the younger Senju, at least while he was still under suspicion. Surely better safe than sorry.

Especially since Tobirama made no secret of his disdain for Hashirama. Had _never_ made a secret of it, and honestly, _that_ was the thing that bothered Mitari most. Hashirama was kind hearted and reasonable. That did _not_ make him weak or stupid, no matter what Tobirama thought, and Mitari was the one who had to see the way that every fight with his brother left Hashirama more and more torn.

If there was ever anyone arrogant, heartless, or cruel enough to turn on their last surviving brother who _loved_ them. Well. Mitari didn’t find the rumors easily dismissed as Hashirama wanted them to be. 

But Hashirama had overruled him. Refused to even consider holding back even the most sensitive information, information that could get people killed if it were placed in untrustworthy hands.

Since Hashirama wouldn’t hear it, Mitari knew that his role as a subordinate was to question once and then do as he was told. So, off the packet of hypersensitive state secrets went. 

Mitari could only hope that the decision wouldn’t come back to bite them. All of them.

The next two and a half hours was spent picking apart every bit of the briefing Tobirama had been given. From the continuing civil unrest in the Land of Lightning:

_“Our most recent spy was unfortunately discovered last week, but has so far been able to avoid apprehension. Hashirama has been looking for a suitable replacement. Until then, we can only take the official word of our envoys to the rival clans. Unfortunately, neither of them are willing to give any actual information.”_

_“Of course not.”_

To the Fire Daimyo’s neverending negotiations on the tax rate for the missions:

_“That depends on the type of currency and missions accepted. Until the ranking system can be established and a regular baseline for income formed, the point is moot, especially with the clans under our banner not yet solidified.”_

_“I believe Madara-sama has made some progress on that. I’ll make sure you get an update.”_

To the recent string of assassinations in the Land of Rivers:

_“So far mostly low-level targets, local warlords and rouges. Likely, the bounties were placed by families of their victims, though the River Lord has tried to extinguish the system. To little success, obviously, but the penalties for accepting an unsanctioned bounty has been increased. As we are looking to be their trade partners, they’ve asked for our assistance in this.”_

_“I’ll bring it to the Council, but any formal decision will have to await my brother's return. But in the meantime…”_

To a customs dispute on importing ores from the Land of Stone. Apparently, the Daimyo there did not want to extend Konoha the same exemptions that he had worked out with the Senju and the Uchiha. Those amounts had varied, but both were massively overcharged when compared to the deal the Hyuuga had worked out with him, being right on the border.

_“The Earth Daimyo has made the Hyuuga an offer to secede their lands from the Land of Fire and join the Land of Earth. Rumors that the shinobi clans there are also uniting alarmingly quickly are as of yet unconfirmed, but what else would they have to offer.”_

_“It is as I feared then. They will unite to oppose us.”_

_“Most likely. But we are blind. The Land of Earth has always kept its secrets well.”_

_“Hmph. We’ll need to get eyes in there. As a priority.”_

_“We’re working on it.”_

_“I don’t require it to be worked on. I require it done.”_

_“W-well, that’s no-”_

_"There is a possibility that the Toruna Clan can…”_

To, hours and over a dozen different agenda items later, they finally got to the reports, loud and worrying, of a bloodbath brewing in the Land of Water.

“Tensions are brewing between the shinobi and the civilian population. The Water Daimyo has kept the peace for nearly ten years, but the riots on Hokyen are spreading.”

“What are we doing about the situation?” asked Tobirama

“Doing?” Mitari asked.

Which drew the ire of Tobirama, something that Mitari had nearly avoided up until this point.

They were so close to done, too.

“What is our stated position?” the Senju said, slowly, as if Mitari were an idiot.

Yano saved him again. Mitari figured the only reason he’d been spared so far was that Yano had done most of the talking. Which was… weird. Madara must have been thorough in bringing the Nara up to date. “So far, I believe the consensus has been that we should wait and see. It is unlikely that the Water Daimyo will ask Konoha for aid, relations being what they are, and so far the situation is not severe enough to endanger the status quo.”

“But it could escalate quickly without our knowing,” Tobirama said, “And given their proximity to the Land of Whirlpools, to whom we are soon to be irrevocably linked, we should be more proactive in influencing the outcome. This could be an opportunity.”

Mitari wasn’t an idiot. He knew that one of the reasons Hashirama decided to handle all foreign affairs was that he feared his brother’s warmongering. Mitari also knew that one of the unspoken reasons Mitari had been left behind was to keep Tobirama from starting them down any path that might be… controversial. Or irrevocable. 

“Maybe so,” Mitari said, swallowing when it drew Tobirama’s bloody gaze, but he wasn’t a fucking _coward_. Someone had to stay standing between Tobirama and Hashirama’s dream. “But that will be the Hokage’s decision.”

It wasn’t until Tobirama nodded and said, “I agree,” that Mitari realized he hadn’t expected him to agree at all. That he’d been ready for the man to put up a fight. Try and enforce his own opinion the way he had been all morning…

But he hadn’t been, had he? Not at all really, despite Mitari’s severe misgivings. Some things Tobirama had ordered done, but those were mostly common sense. Things that Hashirama had already cleared before he’d left, but that were taking time. 

Time, which was the one thing Tobirama didn’t want to give them. Everything was now, yesterday, not soon enough-

“Anything else?”asked Tobirama, “I was meant to meet with the representatives of the Kuroda Banking Clan a half hour ago.” 

Not that Mitari could think of, so he exhaled subtly and began, “No-”

Yano interrupted him, “Yes. The wedding celebrations for the union with Whirlpool.”

Tobirama tilted his head at him, a hawk sighting its prey. He said, “What about it?”

“At the moment, celebrations are only being planned within the Senju Clan, correct?” Yano asked Mitari.

“Well, yes?” Mitari said.

“But Hashirama is the Hokage. His marriage to a foreign princess is a triumph of diplomacy. She represents the acceptance of Konoha as a player on the international scale. It’s a triumph for the Village as a whole and should be celebrated as such.”

Tobirama looked thoughtful at the suggestion. And then proceeded to give Mitari whiplash when he said, “I agree.”

To someone _else’s_ suggestion. It had _never_ happened once, in all of the hundreds of meetings Tobirama and Mitari had attended together.

But then, Mitari had never been in a meeting with Nara Yano. Usually, in meetings, Tobirama left everybody behind, but in this meeting, in the last three hours, it had never been more clear to Mitari that _he_ was the one who was unprepared.

Slacking. 

Which wasn’t fair. He was entirely up to date. He wasn’t unprepared. He just- these two had spent the whole meeting running over and away from him. He was supposed to be in charge, not the one racing to catch up. It wasn’t fair.

Mitari wasn’t stupid either. 

The Nara was talking. 

“-I recommend the delegation of this task to a few varied Clan Heads.”

“Who do you recommend?”

“Inouye-sama from the Yamanaka Clan should have the lead. They have experience arranging multi-clan celebrations. Next would be someone from the Uchiha or Senju clans, but as their Clan Heads are both out of town…”

Tobirama nodded, and gestured for Yano to move along.

“The Shimura were the next clan to officially join, and the Inuzuka are the next largest. Goro-sama is a good organizer, and I can’t imagine Sango-sama contributing much, but she would doubtless be insulted if she wasn’t included.”

“Indeed,” Tobirama agreed, scornfully. “Fine. Put a meeting with them on the books as soon as possible. They only have a week after all.”

“I’ll have them here before noon,” assured Yano.

Then, suddenly, they were both looking at him. And he had no idea what they wanted.

“Well?” Tobirama demanded. At Mitari’s blank look, the glare was back and Mitari clenched his fist trying to stop them from shaking. “This meeting is over. Get me the Kuroda representative. Now.”

“Right!” he jumped and turned, leaving the room in a rush, Yano following behind, the Nara’s longer legs keeping up easily. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled to Yano. Even though the man had done well, Tobirama was a lot and part of Mitari’s clan. He felt obligated to apologize for him. “I know Tobirama can be a lot. It gets easier, I promise.”

Yano just hummed, sounding unconvinced. Angry even. 

“You should be better about hiding your dislike,” Yano mumbled to him.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Mitari was entirely good at hiding his dislike of Tobirama. He’d been doing it for years. 

Yano’s dark eyes stared out at him from an indifferent face.

“I get it. You’re a bureaucrat. You’re probably even a very good one. But Tobirama is a front-line leader. He doesn't need simpering and assurances. He needs action. It isn’t personal; it’s professional, so buck up or shut up.”

Then Yano brushed by him, strode straight through the crowd already lining up to see their new, illustrious and thankfully temporary leader, and went right out the door.

And _who the fuck did that Nara even think he was?_

-

Uzumaki MIto had been called many things. Good things, like sister and daughter. Facts, like Princess and Your Highness. Things she was proud of, Master of Seals and Red Wave of the Reefs. Some things, people had only called her _once_, like frigid and bitch.

But no one had ever, _ever_, called her a fool.

She honestly hadn't expected the opportunity to speak with Hashirama before their marriage was finalized. Total separation from the moment of arrangement until after the ceremony was the norm for politically arranged marriages. She just counted herself as lucky that they had met before, however briefly that had been.

They’d met once as children, spent a week together when both their fathers had cause to visit the Fire Daimyo’s court, frolicking in the palace gardens on the rare occasion that they could escape their parents and the stifling expectations they carried. 

They were some of her fondest memories from that time. 

She still had the first flower he’d grown for her in those gardens, pressed between the pages of that day’s diary entry. 

The memory of Hashirama’s earnest smile and bright eyes were the only reason she’d agreed to the marriage. 

That was before the Senju and the Uchiha united, and the Hidden Village was born. Eager to solidify their old alliance, her father had proposed she marry that young boy. Already twenty-five, she had been prepared to pass her days as a seal-master, revered and cherished by her family. 

But if she had to marry, she knew she could have done much worse. 

Especially since it appeared that he had made it all the way to now with that good soul, that naivety, still intact, when she knew the horrors he had faced.

Even if she definitely didn’t like what he was telling her. 

Hashirama thought the rumors about his brother might be _true_.

She was grateful for the fan she held to hide most of her face so he wouldn’t see her frown deepening.

Mito had never met Tobirama. He was the younger son, and thus excluded from Butsuma’s trips to the Land of Fire’s capital city. But she had heard of him. By now, nearly everyone had. Opinions were divided. Either he was more suited to being Hokage than the _actual_ Hokage of Konoha, or Tobirama thought he was. 

Both were dangerous notions, but one was treasonous.

Worse than treasonous. They were brothers.

“I can not be sure of Tobirama’s intentions,” Hashirama said frankly. “But you have a right to know what is going on.”

His own _brother_.

But, she’d heard other rumors too. Touka, Hashirama’s negotiator for the last six months and something like a friend, had nothing but praise to sing for her younger cousin. She called the rumors nonsense, born of the same prejudice that the Elders had carried for the boy when Tobirama was born with snow white hair and red, almost Uchiha colored, eyes. He’d fought hard to be a warrior able to support his brother’s more peaceful ideals, and anything to the contrary was malicious slander. She’d warned Mito that the Senju Elders were liars and snakes, clinging onto a waning power and lashing out at those in their way. That their reach crossed countries and clans, as thin and strong as a spider’s web. It was they, Touka insisted, Mito be wary of, rather than her new brother-in-law. 

Such blatant and fervent favoritism seemed almost more fantastical than the rumors of his treachery, In some ways, it was reassuring that Hashirama didn’t pretend to be as sure about which way the wind was blowing, but still.

“What do you intend to do about it?” she asked. 

“Nothing.”

Mito looked down at the table between them, at the steaming tea cups neither of them had touched, the fan she held hiding her face nearly entirely.

Hashirama’s answer was resolute as it was ridiculous. How could he say his plan was to do nothing? He was a Clan Head, and more importantly, the Hokage of Konohagakure, a village, an _idea_ that was changing the world around them. He was more than a man now, more even than the legend he had been. He was leading the entire continent to a new future where petty clan feuds could be put aside for the betterment of the entire whole and now, even with that peace possibly threatened, he would to do nothing?

Even if Touka was correct, and Tobirama would do nothing to endanger his brother, ever, the surer course was surety. Better to know.

It didn’t make sense. 

“That does not seem wise,” she said diplomatically, hiding any sign of her turmoil.

“Perhaps not, but I will not act against my brother.”

Ah. So, even an investigation would be seen as action. In some ways, she could why. The rumors were _so_ pervasive, that any credence lent to them, any hint that Hashirama believed them could be damning. If Hashirama even allowed for the possibility of his brother’s guilt, then perhaps the guilty verdict would be presumed a forgone conclusion. Even if his brother were actually innocent. 

But if he wasn’t, if Tobirama was guilty, doing nothing meant accepting the coup and all its consequences. It meant Hashirama’s death, and the death of all the family and supporters who stood with him. 

A family she was about to join. 

“Even if he tries to kill you,” she pressed. 

“Even then. I could not meet my ancestors in the afterlife with my honor intact if I were to stoop to fratricide, regardless of the cause.”

“And if he gives you no choice? What happens when he comes to kill you?” Mito asked. Her calm was not easily shaken, but hearing him so patiently explaining his plans to simply wait for his own death was beginning to do so.

“Then, he will answer for it in his own time. It will no longer be my concern.”

An unfair answer. 

“You’re asking me to marry a dead man.”

“Everyone dies. I am asking you to marry an honorable one. One who would rather die than raise his sword against his family.”

When said like that, it didn’t sound like so much to ask. In what world would such qualities not be ones that should be cherished?

However, he could very well be putting _her_ in danger. 

By the look on his face, he knew that, but he didn’t know what else to do. Could see no path but the one he’d chosen. 

“But you know nothing for certain?” she asked. It was entirely possible his suspicions were wrong. 

“A leaf cannot tell which way the wind will take it. I hope, and will continue to hope, that these misunderstandings between my brother and I will show themselves to be nothing more than that. However, I thought you should be aware of the possibility.” He paused and looked her straight in the eye, without judgement or recrimination, just _honest_. “The choice is yours.”

It was so much to his credit that he was honest about it. That he was already approaching the idea of _them_ on equal footing. 

Not only that, but he was apparently still the kind of man who would not be the first to strike out against a friend. She could, at the very least, respect that. 

She had always heard that a good partnership was one where the opposite sides could compliment each other. Perhaps she would be able to see something that he could not? Perhaps she could find another path.

Or she could leave him here, humiliated and shamed, with a firm no. It would bring immense dishonor to them both, but he was giving her the option. She could decide not to marry him. He was giving her the _choice_, and would suffer whatever fate she chose for both of them willingly, which was so much more than she could say about ninety percent of the eligible suitors for her hand. She knew her father would understand. She knew Hashirama would abide by the decision, or else why would he have offered it?

A promising start to their union, she thought, even if there were storm clouds on the horizon. 

No matter. Uzumaki knew how to weather rough seas. 

Besides, what kind of shinobi would she be if she allowed this silly man to bury his head in the sand until he suffocated?

Perhaps she would be in a better position to save him in Konoha. After all, that he would not act might be noble, but there was nothing that said _she_ could not work on his behalf.

Perhaps she could even save him, and, more importantly the peace he represented. The hope.

For she too was wearied of war. 

“... I would be honored to be your wife, Hashirama-sama,” she said with a bow.

Hashirama beamed and bowed in replay, every inch as deeply as she had. Equal once more. “The honor is mine,” he said warmly. 

Mito smiled. She _liked_ him. 

-

Inouye returned home after his meeting with Tobirama in desperate need of a drink. Really, who held a lunch meeting without alcohol?

The dour Senju did, apparently. 

Considering Yano had organized it, Inouye really should have known. 

Nothing was stopping him from getting some now, though. It was barely afternoon, but the amount of work Inouye had ahead of him called for a bottle of _sake_ and some serious strategizing.

With everything, well begun was half done. Running off in haste without allowing time to properly process and decide what needed to be done, what they had time to actually achieve, how they should best go about achieving it, would only lead to more headaches down the line. Better to take the hour now and prepare for the very busy afternoon and evening and week to come than make easily avoidable mistakes, or worse, waste the precious time he had. 

A wedding celebration of this magnitude was sure to be fraught with potential mistakes. 

That was, if some had not already been made. 

Inouye had known Yano long enough to know that he had no doubt been behind the selection of the other members of the party planning committee. Inuzuka and Shimura had both been vocal detractors of Tobirama, but the meeting had shown that Sango at least, had mellowed somewhat in that regard. Inouye couldn’t know what had changed her mind for certain, but he had a few guesses. 

Goro was still as intransigent as always, but Tobirama had managed him admirably. Well, Yano had, but that was to be expected. Inouye was just impressed that the Senju had managed to hold his tongue in the face of Goro’s blustering. 

Sango hadn’t, but again, that was also to be expected, even if her defense of Tobirama hadn’t been. 

Either way, Inouye was just glad that the meeting had been short. He could manage Goro and Sango both once he’d decided exactly what needed to be done. 

A week to plan a festival. Who’s idea was that?

Again, probably Yano. Bastard could have warned him. Or at least Yano’s husband could have warned him.

Speaking of.

“How did it go?”

Inouye _didn’t_ jump at the extra person in his supposed-to-be-empty kitchen, and he didn’t appreciate the way that Ishohi was clearly laughing at him from his seat at _Inouye’s_ table. 

The Yamanaka Clan Head rolled his eyes at his overdramatic (quite a distinction among the Yamanaka) clansmen. “You’re early,” Inouye said, “_Sake_?” 

He knew what Ishohi would say. After a month of disciplinary suspension, Ishohi had been driving them all crazy with his willingness to climb the walls. 

Really, Inouye should have known he’d be waiting to pounce on any news. 

As suspected, Ishohi let out a heavy sigh and dropped his head down on the table, short ponytail flopping forward, and said, “Please.”

So, Inouye pulled the _sake_ out of his fridge and took down two cups. 

Ishohi’s head was still on the table, pouting, when Inouye came over and put his cup in front of him and poured them both a drink.

Settling next to the overly dramatic man, Inouye lounged back in his own chair and crossed his legs, enjoying the excellent rice wine he’d pulled out. The cool of it felt good on his throat. The walk back from the Hokage Tower had been both dusty, and caused him to break into a light sweat from the heat, leaving Inouye’s pale skin flushed. Summer was coming on soon, burning away the springtime. 

An ideal time of year for a festival. 

Across from him, Ishohi sighed again, but sat up and flipped his hair back out of his face before he took his own tiny _sake_ cup and downed it in one go. 

Heathen.

Inouye didn’t comment though, just refilled the other man’s drink.

“So,” Ishohi said once the burn had subsided, “How was it?”

Taking another small sip, Inouye thought his answer over for a moment before saying, “Interesting. I see what you mean.”

Because Ishohi had been telling him for weeks, since the first time that he’d met Tobirama, that _something_ was going on with the younger of the formidable Senju brothers. 

Something malicious. And dangerous. 

Since autumn, mere weeks after the Yamanaka had joined the village, Inouye had been sending Tobirama weekly requests for a shared meal. It was the traditional way that their Clan said thank you, something they’d picked up from their long alliance with the Akamichi. 

Because a thank you was due. Tobirama had saved Inouye’s own first cousin Idane after having never even spoken to the man. Only to then _ignore_ every one of Inouye’s invitations. 

At first, for a while, it had been incredibly insulting. The invitations had been returned with polite declinations, then less polite, then nothing at all. 

It hadn’t made sense, really. Why would Tobirama go out of his way to insult their Clan? Especially after his brother had been solicitous of them joining the village. 

That was, until Inouye’s clansmen Ishohi had come home fuming after being put on disciplinary suspension from his post at the Hospital, supposedly, for filling out a patient’s chart incorrectly.

_Supposedly_. Because he’d come to Inouye adamant that there was no way he’d make that kind of mistake.

Inouye had been inclined to believe him. Ishohi had been a medic for nearly half his life, was one of the Yamanaka’s most senior and well regarded medics. There hadn’t been a single spot on his record in over ten years, not since he’d still been in training. Then, within the two months since the hospital opened, somehow he’d made enough mistakes for disciplinary action?

Inouye didn’t buy it. 

With his cousin’s permission, he’d taken a glance into Ishohi’s mind to look at his memories of the incident in question. He saw Ishohi’s supervisor, an awful Senju woman, point a spindly finger at the incorrectly filled out form, saw her self-satisfied smirk, and felt second-hand Ishohi’s disbelief, genuine and absolutely certain.

So, he’d looked back further, to Ishohi filling out that actual chart, and sure enough, Ishohi remembered filling out the chart correctly. Somehow, the chart had been changed, without his input, and despite Ishohi’s handwriting still being easily identifiable. 

Now, Inouye had acknowledged the possibility that Ishohi had convinced himself that he had filled out the sheet correctly and was therefore was willfully misremembering. He was a Yamanaka, after all. 

But it was unlikely. Inouye wasn’t the Clan Head for nothing. He could see through most attempts at deception, even the unintentional. Misremembered memories, while difficult to see through, could be fuzzy or have slight inconsistencies that helped an experienced reader see when a mind was attempting to trick them, or even itself. 

He was as certain as he could be, as certain as Ishohi himself, that the other man hadn’t made that error.

He had also felt Ishohi’s contempt, ill-hidden, for his supervisor. From what Inouye had gleamed, it was well deserved. The woman went out of her way to be awful and cruel, clearly one of those few who went into the medical field to nurse her own god complex. 

True, Ishohi should have been a little more subtle in hiding his dislike. The woman had been his superior officer, but Inouye wasn’t sure he could really blame him. It was hard to see someone more concerned with being correct than caring for the patients under them. Further, the lack of oversight she was subjected to was troubling. Inouye had appealed to the Hospital Director on Ishohi’s behalf and was stunned when the woman, not a Senju, had listened politely, but decided to stand by Watanaka rather than respect Inouye’s word as a Yamanaka. 

But It wasn’t like Inouye could tell her how he knew Ishohi to be telling the truth. The Yamanaka mind techniques were a clan secret, one they were not willing to share. 

Not yet at least. Perhaps when the Village was a bit more stable... but not yet. Not until all the other clans were willing to share their own secrets as well. 

Without that evidence, there was nothing left for Inouye to do but appeal to the Hokage himself, which had received no reply. Yet another insult. 

Inouye had begun to be _annoyed_.

But if there was one thing the Yamanaka excelled at, it was using social situations to gather information. And the village was positively buzzing with gossip. 

Most of it about Tobirama. The more Inouye listened, the more he was inclined to believe Ishohi’s hunch that his suspension had more to do with the younger Senju brother than any mistake Ishohi himself might have made was accurate. 

Especially after today's meeting. When Shimura and Inuzuka departed, Inouye had lingered, ignoring Yano’s pointed look and that the acting Hokage was already busy, to ask, once more, in person this time, if Tobirama would join him for tea. 

The Senju had paused, glanced at the mountains of work he had to do, but nodded.

_“As soon as my brother returns, I would be honored.”_

Simple. After months of denied written invitations. 

And strange.

So, on a hunch, he then asked about Ishohi’s suspension. Laid out the case, succinctly, that two months was more than enough of a punishment for a simple filing error, especially in light of his perfect service record, and the fact that no harm had resulted from the error. 

Again, Tobirama agreed readily enough, and promised to bring it up with his next meeting with the Hospital Director. 

Again, simple. 

And not at all what Inouye had expected. Or been led to expect.

“So, you agree with me?” Ishohi said, blue eyes sharp behind his glasses, “Something _is_ going on.”

“Possibly. Either that or one of Hashirama’s supposed lectures on manners finally sunk in.”

Ishohi’s raised eyebrow succinctly conveyed how unlikely that was. “You can’t honestly believe that.”

No, he didn’t. But Inouye shrugged. 

They would have to wait and see.

-

Over the last several days, Haruhi had seen the Hokage Tower, the several council chambers held within, including the very busy mission desk, a testament to the apparent prosperity of this new village and prospective ally. She’d seen the gates, been given a tour of where the outer walls would rise, the bath house with its piping hot water even here, hundreds of miles from any kind of hot spring, the electrical substation and hydro-electric dam that were unlike anything she’d ever seen. She’d seen the lands set aside for her own clan, should they choose to join, and the training grounds they’d have access too. She’d walked the paved streets and bridges, strolled pathways along the canals, seen the hospital, temples, the post office, falconry, embassies. She’d met with Clan Heads and dignitaries, craftsmen and priests. She’d toured the furnaces and industry that pushed out hundreds of kunai and shuriken a week to arm the _thousands_ of shinobi that were learning to call the village home. 

No, not a Village. It may have started out that way, but this was a full grown city, bursting at the seams. Loud, bold, and surprisingly beautiful. 

But none of that was as interesting as what she’d _heard_.

The first thing that any _byakugan_ user learned was that even their amazing eyes could lie. Cracks could be plastered over without a trace, a vassal might seem faultless save for the water escaping. Eyes, even their formidable ones, could always be deceived.

As beautiful and bright and promising as the Village seemed, the whispers on the wind didn’t lie.

Something was afoot, and Senju Tobirama was at the heart.

_“-goodness he’s back. Things are finally functi-”_

_“-say Madara-sama broke his hands-”_

_“-without power for three days, then he comes back and voila, lights back on-”_

_“-they say he should vie for the leadership-”_

_“We should have picked him for Ho-”_

_“I voted for him.”-“The hell you did-”_

“Hungry, heiress?”

Hauhi turned and smiled at her guide. She had only met two Uchiha before Tsubame, Hikaku and the earlier ambassador (who’s name was Kenichi, and who’s recent punishment was another whisper floating around), both of which couldn’t have been more different. Tsubame was definitely more like the former than the latter.

Tsubame wore a mask that hid much of her features beyond her family’s famous eyes which left her hard to read, but she was also affable and kind. She didn’t question why the Hyuuga heiress wanted to spend her day dithering in the marketplace, idly looking at wares from Wind Country spices to Water Country painted silks and everything in between. She merely looked on, an imposing guide meant to show the Hokage’s favor rather than a guard trying to herd the heiress and her companion away from Konoha’s secrets. Haruhi kept an eye on the Uchiha anyways and smiled when she realized that the Uchiha was doing as she herself was, chatting with the people they met, buying little trinkets, and _listening_. 

After a morning in her company, Haruhi was certain she quite liked Tsubame.

But her question was fair, it was afternoon now, and they hadn’t had lunch yet.

“Sure,” Haruhi agreed. “Any suggestions?”

Tsubame shrugged. “There’s a ramen stand nearby?”

Haruhi hadn’t had ramen in years, not since her mother took her on a trip to the Fire Capital. But it sounded tasty enough. She nodded.

Tsubame led the way out of the marketplace, Haruhi and her companion Megumi-san, down a busy side-street lined with delicious looking stands. Haruhi felt her stomach growl in earnest. 

Even with her mask on, Haruhi could see the Uchiha smile at her and she pushed down the blush. But she didn’t shut off her ears.

_“-can’t believe I have to work with him-”_

_“-miss Hashirama. This is a totalita-”_

_“At least things are getting done-”_

“Here we are,” Tsubame said, and pushed aside the _noren_ to usher them inside. Tsubame apparently knew the owner well enough to be greeted by name as they all took their seats.

“Tsubame-san! Welcome back! Who have you brought with you?”

Fair enough, he was a civilian. He might not be familiar with what Haruhi’s _byakugan_ eyes and sealless forehead meant, something Haruhi was growing more and more used to the longer she was here. In some ways, it was nice to not be recognized, even if it never lasted for long.

“Kabaji-san, this is Hyuuga Haruhi and her companion, Megumi-san,” Tsubame introduced them, “This is Kabaji. He makes the best ramen in town.”

“Honored to meet you,” said Haruhi with a slight bow.

“No, no, the honor is all mine! It’s not every day you get to feed an heir to one of the great families,” he replied with a much deeper bow, “Do you know what you would like?”

“Oh, whatever Tsubame-san recommends. I trust her judgement,” Haruhi waved him off.

She was much more interested in who she spied coming down the street. She thought about calling out to him, but the street was crowded and she didn’t want to shout. 

“Hey, Hikaku! Get over here!” Tsubame had no such computations, it seemed.

The Uchiha in the street looked over to them and smiled. Haruhi waved a bit as he came over.

“Haruhi-sama, Megumi-san,” he greeted them. “It’s good to see you again.”

Haruhi nodded her agreement, saying, “It’s been a while.”

He looked tired.

“I heard you took over Tobirama’s duties while he’s playing Hokage,” Tsubame teased her clansman. “I didn’t think I’d see you for at least a week.”

Hikaku sighed and rolled his shoulders. “You’re probably right. I can’t stay long. I was just going to grab some lunch for us and get back to work. “

“You couldn’t send someone to get it for you?” Tsubame asked.

“I could have, but I feel like another hour in that office would have left me with no choice but ritual suicide, so here I am,” he said and slid onto the stool on the other side of his clanswoman, and ordered. “I’ll have two orders of the pork to go please?”

“A shoyu each for the heiress and I,” Tsubame followed up, and Kabaji looked to Megumi, who gave him a very pleasant smile. 

“Miso, please,” her chaperone said. 

Orders taken, the chef went to work.

“So, how are you liking Konoha, Haruhi-sama?” Hikaku asked, leaning on the counter to see around Tsubame and address her.

Haruhi thought over her answer carefully. After all, it was unlikely that she was the only one listening. 

“It’s beautiful. And what you’ve achieved in so little time is quite amazing.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Tsubame mused, just a hint of pride in her voice.

And she should be proud. All day, Haruhi had watched clans that had been killing each other for generations working together to raise buildings and create wonders, building a city together out of nothing. Watched their children play together the way she and her sisters were never able too, not with one-time enemies in range. 

Haruhi had never thought she would ever live to see a day without war. Here, that impossibility seemed so, so devastatingly possible. 

“I wouldn’t have thought it could be done unless I’d seen it with my own eyes. It’s incredible,” she said with honesty.

Nodding, Hikaku agreed, “There’s still a lot of work left to do but, for once, it feels…” he trailed off, searching for the word.

“Worth it?” Tsubame offered. “Even with Tobirama running you ragged?”

Hikaku sighed, and lamented, “It’s not on purpose. There’s just a lot to do.”

Tsubame laughed at him. “You reap what you sow, cousin.”

He glared at her. “Is that you volunteering, I hear? Because there’s plenty of work to go around.”

“Hey, I’m doing work,” Tsubame protested, raising her hands up as though it proved her innocence, and then waving at the two Hyuuga. “I’m showing around the Hyuuga heiress and her companion.”

“Yes, I see they’re working you very hard,” Hikaku said, eyes cutting across to Haruhi to let her share in the joke at Tsubame’s expense, which she did.

“Not everyone’s a slave driver,” Tsubame agreed. “But I know when to count myself as lucky, so thank you, Haruhi, for lunch.”

“You’re welcome,” Haruhi answered with a smiling wink, but then she sobered. Her next words were picked very, very carefully. “Is the overwhelming workload normal for your position, Hikaku-san?”

Hikaku looked over at her and tilted his head, puzzled. “How do you mean?”

“Is it normal that you and Tobirama should have so much to do?”

“No, not really,” Hikaku said. “It’s just that both Madara and Hashirama are out of the village.”

That was a fair answer she supposed. She’d only met Hashirama a few times and Madara once. They’d both made a strong impression, from Hashirama’s easy, charismatic optimism, to Madara’s fierce humility. 

She would never forget the way the Uchiha Clan Head knelt before her, bowed, and asked her Clan’s forgiveness. His sincerity, after Hikaku’s, after _Tobirama’s_, had made the apology an easy one to accept. If the first ambassador’s _katon_ still swirled in the back of her nightmares, that was her business.

Still, his explanation didn’t explain all of what she had heard, what she kept hearing about the work he and Tobirama were doing. She shared a glance with Megumi, who nodded, and turned her attention to the chef.

“So, how early do you start the broths,” her old tutor, who was in no way old yet, flirted and the chef was immediately distracted from whatever his other customers were saying. 

That done, she tried asking in a different way. Not what she wanted to know, exactly, but enough that they should understand her true question without other sensitive ears hearing her question the established system of her prospective alliance. 

“I suppose the administration for such a large village requires strong leadership.”

_Leadership it had been lacking? Had been found? Was it at all in question?_

From the blank looks they sent her, it was clear the two Uchiha had _no_ idea what she was referring to. Which was odd in itself. Especially, if Hikaku was doing what was normally Tobirama’s role. 

“I suppose so,” Hikaku said. “But everyone is working together to make this Village a success. It’s just that there’s a lot to organize.”

Haruhi studied him. She’d known him long enough to know he wasn’t lying. 

Interesting. Perhaps he didn’t see or hear the same things she did. 

Or perhaps, people were more careful that _he_ didn’t hear it than they were that a sixteen year old heiress of a clan that hadn’t even joined the village yet did. 

Haruhi knew what she looked like, young and fragile and foolish. She often used it to her advantage. Her own people were wise to it, but here, in a town full of shinobi, it seemed like no one had cottoned on yet. This was just as she liked it.

But an advantage coveted among enemies was not one that she needed at the expense of her friend’s ignorance. Hikaku and Tsubame were quickly moving into that territory, more so than nearly anyone she’d met in her own family just by virtue of them not being so separated by rank and a seal on their forehead. 

That said, she wasn’t sure they were quite there yet, and Haruhi still had a lot more to see. 

And she planned to see everything. Her mother expected no less. 

-

It wasn’t hubris for Hikaku to say that he was rarely confused. He listened more than he spoke, was observant, patient, didn’t rush to judgement on anything if he could help it. All of that equalled a surprising lack of surprise in his regular life.

Senju Tobirama was, frustratingly, still proving the exception to that rule. 

“I don’t understand why this wasn’t done weeks ago,” Tobirama snapped at the man standing before the acting Hokage’s desk.

“Well, we were waiting on orders to-”

“You shouldn’t need orders to do something so obviously needed and easily accomplished. Initiative is the foundation of character, and the village cannot function without it. Your lack thereof is nothing short of disappointing.”

To be fair, Hikaku could see where Tobirama was coming from. It seemed the Akamichi man in charge of fortifying the escape tunnels into the cliffs was firstly, not very organized, but secondly, a bit of a soft touch. Which meant that the abrasive tone the Senju was taking was a bit more than the man could handle.

If Tobirama didn’t tone it down a bit, Hikaku thought the man might cry. The project hadn’t been that delayed. 

“I, yes, of course. You’re right. We’ll start back on them first thing in the morning.”

Tobirama’s stone-cold stare was nearly physical in its weight. “I suppose another delay can’t do any more damage than you’ve already wrought with your indecision.”

“I-I…” 

Even Hikaku felt bad for the man, but Tobirama didn’t flinch, just rolled his eyes. 

“Get out.”

The Akamichi didn’t need to be told twice and fled, head down in shame.

Thing was, Hikaku thought he knew by now that Tobirama wasn’t usually this much of an asshole. Or, at least, he thought he knew. 

Hikaku supposed that he still hadn’t seen every side of the Senju. He was, after all, an Uchiha. The whole village knew Tobirama was under orders to make nice with them. The same could be said for the Hyuuga, which made up the majority of the people Hikaku had seen him interact with.

It didn’t explain Kagami, but maybe the Senju was just good with children. 

Or, maybe he just couldn’t stand incompetence, which Hikaku could understand, sort of. On the other hand, Tobirama was one of the most hard-working, capable people Hikaku had ever met. Holding everyone to his own standard would be firstly, exhausting, and secondly, an exercise in futility. 

The Senju knew how to be diplomatic, but it was clear that most of the time Tobirama didn’t bother. Or perhaps, the stress of everything had finally caught up to him, what with Hashirama and the entire entourage from Whirlpool set to arrive tomorrow morning on top of their usual duties and the thrice damned festival that was _still_ having its last details finalized, but _regardless_. Such a severe reaction to what was a relatively minor slight was... odd. And foolish. 

He never would have thought he’d ever find something about Senju Tobirama foolish. 

“You don’t do yourself any favors, do you?” he said when he was sure they were alone. 

Tobirama looked over at him from across his mountain of paperwork. Over the last week it had noticeably shrunk since Tobirama had taken over. The first few days were an absolute trial of putting out fire after fire, but things had finally settled down into something almost manageable. Enough that Hikaku had time to have this conversation instead of the nonstop running around the village all day he’d been doing. 

It had been surprisingly easy actually. Everything had come together.

That’s not to say that he and Tobirama didn’t still have a lot to do, or that there were _no_ problems. Such as the festival that was supposed to happen _tomorrow_ celebrating the Hokage’s marriage and return, or like the Akamichi, who’s project had gone without progress for days, to the point where the trickle down effect was impacting other people, who’d brought the problem to Hikaku, who brought the problem to Tobirama, and here they were.

But that disaster of a conversation certainly wasn’t how the Uchiha would have handled the situation. 

“How do you mean?” Tobirama asked. 

“Well, if he complains to his Clan Head or your brother, you could be in trouble.”

Tobirama scowled. 

“I’m not here to make friends,” he said. “I’m here to run this village.”

“In your brother’s stead. Which means that your actions reflect on him,” reasoned Hikaku

“My actions bring results,” said Tobirama, looking back to the paperwork for something or other, but Hikaku wasn’t done yet.

“Yes, but the manner in which you get those results matters too. You don’t want to alienate people who your brother needs as allies.”

Tobirama shook his head and flipped a page. Hikaku didn’t take offence to the way he didn’t seem to be listening. He knew from experience that the Senju was.

“But then they would be my allies, and not his, which could be equally detrimental,” answered Tobirama. “It’s not my place to be making alliances of any kind,” 

Okay, Hikaku could kind of understand that. Sort of. He didn’t know much about the internal Senju Clan politics, but he knew from the Uchiha’s long history with them that leadership in the Senju Clan was hereditary. Tobirama made it sound like making allegiances on his own might seem like he was competing with his own brother, or forging ties behind his back.

Hikaku tried to put himself in that position, but he could not unsee the flaw in Tobirama’s reasoning.

“Maybe,” Hiakaku conceded, “but that was back when it was just your own clan you were dealing with.” He waited for Tobirama to look up at him, before he continued. “With so many clans interacting with each other, there is little chance for everyone to know each other personally. People see you not just as a member of your clan, but representative of them. Especially, of your brother. And being rude to them, no matter the eventual results, won’t make either of your jobs easier. It might even make them that much harder.”

To his credit, Tobirama actually seemed to be thinking it over. 

He asked, “Why should I have to pander to people to get them to do their job?”

Hikaku remembered suddenly that Tobirama wasn’t actually all that much older than he was. That he too probably still had a lot to learn, especially with the realities of Konoha being so different from what they’d grown up with. 

Hikaku smiled at him commiseratingly. “Because people don’t like to be preached at by people half their age. Or berated when they already know they’ve messed up. A softer touch might, on occasion, be more effective.”

Tobirama snorted. “If you say so.”

Hikaku opened his mouth to continue, but a knock on the office door held him up. Especially, as the person on the other side didn’t wait for an answer before letting themselves in.

It was an elderly woman, tiny, with perfectly coiffed grey hair ornamented with shining beads that jangled lightly as she walked into the room. Her arms were tucked demurely into the sleeves of a fine kimono. Her eyes were barely visible for the placid smile on her face. 

“Hello, there,” she said in a voice cracked with age. 

As she drew closer, Hikaku could make out the Senju Clan symbol on her _ogi-bira_ hairpiece. A Senju Clan Elder then. 

Tobirama stood and bowed to her. 

“Honored Aunt.”

She smiled, her thin lips disappearing entirely with the stretch.

“Nephew,” she responded.

Ah. This must be Noriko then. Hikaku had heard Madara mention her in passing. Everyone said she was likely to be elected to the _komon_ as the Senju’s representative. 

“And who is this?” the elderly woman asked, turning toward Hikaku, who bowed to her as Tobirama introduced him. 

“Honored Aunt, this is Uchiha Hikaku, acting Clan Head for the Uchiha. Hikaku, Elder Noriko.”

“I see,” she croaked. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Everyone says you are a fine young man. And you have done such good work over the last week. I’m sure Madara-sama will be most impressed. As are we all.”

Hikaku didn’t know why, maybe it was something in her tone, or the way that he’d spent most of his life surrounded by either friends or enemies and was very, very good at telling the difference, but for no justifiable reason, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Maybe it was just a chill, or a draft, or something completely unrelated to the way the old woman smiled at him. 

But he didn’t think so. Any shinobi worth their salt knew a _threat_ when they saw one. 

She hadn’t said anything wrong, or even moved very fast. She was entirely complimentary, but still. She was unsettling.

Maybe it was simply that she was once a formidable shinobi. He could tell by the way she moved, silent on her wooden sandals. Perhaps she still was one. 

Threatening or not, it was no excuse to be rude when she’d been so cordial. Hikaku returned her bow and replied, “Thank you very much, Elder. You are much too kind.”

Humming, she turned back to Tobirama. 

“To what do we owe the honor of your visit?” Tobirama asked.

After so long in his company, Hikaku could honestly say he’d never heard Tobirama sound quite so emotionless. 

Noriko didn’t seem to mind or notice.

“I simply came to see if the rumors were true. It seems you have done well tidying up the mess your foolish elder brother left.”

Hikaku couldn’t help the way he looked at the elderly woman in shock. That was- 

The elderly had the right to speak frankly, much more than anyone else, but that was the Hokage she was talking about. Tobirama’s brother, a figure the other man spent much of his time appeasing. 

“I’m afraid Hashirama was at a disadvantage with my absence. In my own oversight, I left him unprepared. He handled it admirably.”

The woman hummed again. “Admirably and ably are two different things. He has much to learn from your diligence.”

Attempting to catch Tobirama’s eye, Hikaku tried to share a glance at the woman’s pure gaul. This was one of Hashirama’s own Elders, speaking brazenly against him. To Tobirama of all people, who had been such a support to his brother. 

But Tobirama wouldn’t look at him. His entire focus seemed pinned to the tiny old woman in front of him. 

So, Hikaku began to speak the defense himself, “I’m sure the Hokage-”

Senju Noriko interrupted him. “Yes, yes, he means well. That doesn’t mean he does not still have much to learn, does it?” She didn’t even look at him while she spoke, but remained facing and clearly addressing Tobirama, who may as well have turned to stone. 

“As you say, Aunt Norkio,” Tobirama replied, which brought about that lip thinning smile once more. 

“Well, I’m sure you are very busy, with your brother set to return tomorrow. I imagine there are still many preparations that need to be completed. If there is anything you need, Tobirama, you know that your family is here to support you?” she said through her grin. 

Tobirama didn’t answer, just bowed again, deeply, to his Clan Elder. She returned the respect, and even Hikaku could see that she was satisfied. 

Only then did she turn to Hikaku, and gifted him with a shallow bow that he returned on instinct.

“Uchiha-san,” she said as she straightened, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Hikaku hadn’t understood much of the conversation that had just occurred, but he did understand one thing. That was a _lie_.

He didn’t say so. Just nodded, and lied himself. “The pleasure was mine.”

The old woman saw herself out at the same leisurely place with which she had arrived. 

As soon as the door closed, Hikaku looked back to Tobirama.

“What the hell was that?” 

Tobirama didn’t look at him, was staring instead at the doors through which his Clan Elder had left.

“I don’t know.”

Hikaku had never heard those words from the Senju, and hadn't thought he ever would. And he didn’t like hearing them now. Not at all.

Especially since he was reasonably certain that Tobirama was lying too. 

-

Wise men say, an inch ahead of you is always dark. Even the most experienced strategists are blind beyond the current moment, but even so, Tobirama knew that this moment found him at a crossroads.

The body under his glowing hand had been unresponsive, dormant, for months. A chest that rose and fell, a heart that beat, nothing more. All quiet.

But perhaps not. Tobirama knew that he was one of the strongest sensors on the continent. It wasn’t boasting; it was a fact. And he’d heard of other sensors with the ability to detect intent, but nothing further.

That the skill could confer empathic abilities remained entirely theoretical. 

Tobirama could only base his conclusions on that which he himself could perceive. And he had functioned for months on the relative certainty that Izuna could hear him when he spoke, could understand and even on a rare occasion respond.

Or he couldn’t, and all of Tobirama’s gleanings had been in his own mind. ‘Wishful thinking’ made it sound trivial, but there was a genuine psychological phenomenon that even the most careful scientists could lose their objectivity in hopes of either positive or negative outcomes. Anyone could be made to believe their own lie. 

Which led him here, with Uchiha Izuna’s chakra embers warming his hand. The warmth was only present around his heart, the cluster of tenketsu points there were the only ones active in the entire system.

All week, Tobirama had the subtle seals on his hands harvesting his own chakra, storing it for this experiment. He hadn’t even summoned clones, carving out five minutes every few hours to check on the man in person rather than risk not having enough. 

He channeled all of it now, building it up until the energy in his arm crackled with the force of it. The seals glowed in time with the rise and fall of his breathing as he pulled more and more from them. The force gathered in his fingertips made them buzz and vibrate painfully with the effort. But pain was a momentary inconvenience and easily ignored as he channeled what felt like an ocean into the pinpoint of the Uchiha’s next dormant tenketsu point.

It took more chakra than he thought it would, nearly sapping his reserves for just this one point, but Tobirama could feel when it cracked open under the weight of his own chakra of a reversed polarity from the Uchiha’s. A natural opposite.

As soon as it gave way, Tobirama fought to pull back his own chakra enough to observe but no further.

Miraculously, the Uchiha’s own chakra flooded into the void, occupying the new space. 

So. This was it then. Proof positive.

He thought he could feel the Uchiha’s elation, for it certainly didn’t mirror his own. 

“It is as I suspected,” Tobirama said, but the joy he had thought he would feel was strangely absent in the face of what he still had to tell the Uchiha. 

Sighing, he withdrew and let the seals on his hands fall dormant, their vast stores reabsorbing rather than dissipating, which was an equally good sign. His stockpiled chakra had only somewhat deteriorated from this experiment.

“As the rest of your systems seem normal, and my numerous tests have shown no other abnormality that might be responsible for your current condition, the only conclusion that may be drawn is that herein lay the key to your awakening. However…”

Tobirama had agonized over this. Had spent the better part of the last week observing, arguing, reasoning with himself. 

When he’d first found the Uchiha on the riverside, his path forward had seemed clear. Awaken him, and find what could perhaps be the key to the one thing he wanted, the only thing he could ever remember _wanting_.

To see his brothers again, just for a moment.

Awaken the Uchiha, find out what he knew, what he’d seen of the other side, learn what he could from the process, and then let him go. Return him to his Clan. The worst that would have happened was a return to the status quo. Return to a war that seemed endless anyways.

Now, though, everything was different. 

Now, he got to see hundreds, thousands of people who had spent their entire lives learning to destroy each other try learning from each other instead. Work together to build something brighter.

Got to see his own family muster behind an ideal that didn’t have to end with all of them buried and gone, with nothing left of their legacy but a world worse off behind them.

Got to see children, so like Itama and Kawarama could have been, learn what it meant to live at _peace_.

Could he deny them that? All of them? For his own selfish desire to see his brothers again?

When Tobirama had thought the Village stable, that he was the only target of the sabotage that had plagued him since the founding, then the worst that awakening Izuna would do was decrease the likelihood of him surviving the attempt. 

Ultimately, no matter how much Izuna might rage against the peace they’d founded in his absence, even if he should convince his brother to lead the Uchiha in a revolt, it would have eventually floundered against a united Village including all of the great Clans of the Land of Fire. The Village would survive the withdrawal of the Uchiha support by this point, with all the others allied together. There would be little to nothing to gain from such an action. 

Besides, actions against Tobirama aside, the Uchiha Clan had shown no inclination to break the peace. Madara was convinced, Hikaku was convinced, and on the whole, they seemed just as invested as the other Clans now that it was clear that their new system of peace was working. 

Izuna could rant, could rail against it, but the Uchiha had stood against _Madara_ to make the peace. They would be no more eager to break now that it was a reality. The threat Izuna could have in persuading the Uchiha to revolt was theoretically negligible. 

Once. But no longer. 

Now, Tobirama knew that the conspiracy reached far beyond his worst fears. 

He knew that while he was certainly the key pawn, he was not the _target_.

The Village was clearly not as united as he had presumed. Waking Izuna now, inviting even more discord into the already tempestuous political landscape could bring consequences that might end the possibility of peace forever.

And that was no longer something he could allow. Even if he never saw his brothers again. Even if the Pure Lands was bereft of them after all his failures and their spirits were truly trapped somewhere in between the living and the dead, or worse, if there truly did lie nothing after death but an endless emptiness and he would spend eternity alone, even then. He could not. 

Peace was more important. 

“I’m sorry,” he told the Uchiha whose attention he could feel as a physical weight “Even though it is now possible, I cannot risk it.”

He knew Izuna would not understand, but this was more important than both of them. This was ages to come, weighing on this moment.

This crossroad. 

“I will not wake you. Not yet.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it for this one! As always, huge shout out to the lovely LostInThePines for the edits and endless encouragement. I honestly can't wait to hear what you all think. I'm sort of on the fence about this chapter, just because there's a lot of parts and moving pieces and new faces and not so much emotional weight as the last on, but all of this needed to get done so we can move along to the next part. Fair warning, next chapter is where things are gonna get 'worse.'
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone sticking with me. I know the waits are long between updates, but I promise I'm still thinking about this story every day. The comments and kudos and even you quiet lurkers are what keep me going. As always though, I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> -Moth


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: Moderate cliffhanger ahead.

-

_Wait. What was he saying?_

“I will not wake you. Not yet.”

No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. _No._

Izuna could not believe what the fuck he was hearing. After _months_ of waiting. Of listening to Tobirama’s _bullshit_ promises and _lies_.

He’d promised. He’d _promised_ Izuna that he would wake him as soon as he could. And Izuna had _believed him_ like a fool, had done what he’d always ragged on Madara for and taken a Senju at his word. He should have known better. 

He did at one time. He’d known better than to trust the word of a _Senju_.

“I see that you are agitated by this decision.”

_‘Agitated’_ he said. Izuna felt _murderous_.

Didn’t he know what it was like, being stuck in this endless dependent state? To be worse than crippled? Trapped in this neverending _hell_?

“I suppose assurances that this only a temporary measure will be of little use.”

_As if Izuna was going to believe him ever again._

“However, I have left several notes on your condition, which I will update with this latest cure. Now that the underlying cause has been discovered, it is quite possible another medic or team of medics will be able to resuscitate you, especially with the guidance of a Hyuuga, something now more than possible to attain.” 

Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, _bullshit_. 

Months. Izuna had waited months for _Tobirama_ to find a cure, assuring himself that there was no one else, that fate wouldn’t have left him here to die alone in a bed, strangled of life and desire, withering, rotting with only an _enemy_ at his side. 

He-he, this-

He could barely _breathe_. He- there was.

That _bastard_.

“As I see it, there are two basic possible scenarios.”

Izuna didn’t want to hear this.

“Either you have been conscious this entire time, and the usually non-violent emotions I have been registering your consciousness and not figments of a wishful mind...”

_Yes._ Izuna tried to send it loudly, desperately. _I’m here. LET ME UP!_

But Tobirama didn’t respond, _ignored him once again_, as he continued on with what he’d been saying, _ignoring him!_ “Or, it is my own wishful thinking. It is equally as probable that you cannot hear me, or that when you awaken it will be with no recollection of the past several months.”

Oh, how Izuna _wished_-.

“In that case, you would awaken to find yourself in a room with your mortal enemy, weakened from the energy required for your resuscitation, and would, without a doubt, end my life.”

…Oh.

Izuna paused for just a moment, a sharp twinge of guilt cutting through his overwhelming rage as he realized that the man might be right before he pushed the feeling down. 

Sure, there was a chance that Tobirama might be giving a fair assessment of a real possibility, but Izuna was also still half-willing to kill the man _even with_ the last months in his memory, because the _treacherous Senju deserved it_. 

Izuna wasn’t inclined to be rational. He wanted to move. He wanted to get up so he could strangle the man. 

But the _liar_ was still talking. 

“If the former, and you have truly been aware during the duration of your time in my care, then there are again two options. Either the emotions I have been gleaming from you are genuine, and your feelings in regards to peace between the Uchiha and the Senju have changed.”

Izuna could only barely hear past the buzzing in his ears, the hurricane trapped under his skin, but he forced himself to listen to the bastard. He wanted to be allowed to scream that Tobirama was right, that Izuna had changed, and he wanted to scream it into the man’s face. 

In the past few months, _while being held captive_, Izuna’s opinions, his whole worldview had been fundamentally altered. It was more than just the - rather horrific - experience of being perpetually helpless and at the mercy of his enemy, it was also the intoxicating sway of words about a changing world beyond his prison. It was enough that he’d thought, maybe Tobirama was a man he had misjudged. How could the Senju keeping him alive be anything but a good man? 

But there was undeniable evidence that he’d been wrong to trust. 

He’d been right to begin with. Never trust a Senju.

“Or, perhaps your feelings have not changed, but you are cognizant that it would be my wish for them to do so, and are therefore only projecting to me what you believe I would wish to hear, a necessary subterfuge to kill me and reunite with your family.” 

_How dare you try and turn this on me?_ Izuna wished he could scream. 

For once, Tobirama seemed to hear him perfectly, because his tone was measured but scolding. As if Izuna was the one being unreasonable, as if Izuna were the betrayer rather than the betrayed. “This is not a judgement on your character. Were I in your place, there is no length I would not go to to return to my family and my duty.”

Izuna couldn’t hear him past the furious reminder that his brain forced him to hear on repeat.

_You promised._

Tobirama sighed, resigned, and said, “Of these options, only one includes even the chance of my own survival.”

At this, the Senju stood, and walked around Izuna’s bed and body, but didn’t seem to be paying him attention in the way Izuna usually knew he was. He didn’t know what the Senju was doing, where he was going but every bit of his caged senses were hyper focused on the other man, well aware in a way he hadn’t been for months, that if Senju Tobirama killed him right now, no one would ever know. 

“At one time, these were odds that I was prepared to reckon with. In the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, one’s life is always forfeit. However.”

Izuna really didn’t have patience for Tobirama’s pontificating, could only stomach to hear it because he had no other choice. There was- they were so close to one another.

_Please. Please, please, please, please, please, please. _

_Let me up. Let me go home. Let me help!_

“It is no longer just my life at stake. Nor even yours. It is the peace itself. Peace that goes beyond meaningless words on the page, but is one that might actually be lived. And I cannot chance it for anything. Especially because, of all of the goings on in the village, everything I have been blind to, there is one thing that the traitorous conspirators do not yet know, or I would surely already be dead. That is your continued survival.”

When Izuna had first awoken, he’d thought himself nothing more than a pawn in the Senju’s sick game. It was somehow worse now, after all this time, finding it to be true. 

“Whether that will be a boon or a burden, I cannot yet know. But I do know that precipitous action is always foolhardy.

“So, you and I _both_ must wait. I cannot do otherwise, however much I should wish it. I do wish it. I wish things were different. That there was anyone else else who could act in my stead, but alas, there is none.”

It sounded so simple. It didn’t sound hard. It sounded like an _excuse_.

And an Uchiha’s rage was not so easily assuaged. 

“I see that, as usual, nothing I say will succeed in changing your mind. I will return when you have calmed.” 

_You fucking do that. LIAR._

The man left, and Izuna raged. 

And grieved his captivity anew. He grieved the loss of his trust. The loss of the potential future he’d seen, awakening to stand at Tobirama’s side, at their brother’s, to help shape a world with peace at its center rather than war. He grieved the loss of the man he’d thought was his friend, revealed now as just a man after all. And a Senju at that. 

To Izuna’s immense frustration, Tobirama was, as usual, correct. 

In a matter of hours, more than he was particularly proud of (he was an adult, a shinobi, and he’d let his temper override his rationality), Izuna calmed down enough to see, begrudgingly, the logic of Tobirama’s decision in the face of his plight. 

The anger was slowly replaced by simmering, frustrated, understanding. 

He didn’t _like_ it, would never like staying in bed, utterly useless when he knew the Senju was so _wrong_. But the understanding was brought by the revelation of how serious Tobirama seemed to think the situation was. That Tobirama foresaw himself in mortal danger. And no real friend would begrudge him anything that might make him just that much safer. 

This bitter understanding bled into anxiety when the Senju was replaced by yet _another_ clone the next day. Eked into a smidgeon of regret. 

Wasn’t Tobirama his friend now? Hadn’t he admitted that to himself months ago. And yes, Tobirama was being a _moron_ and _incredibly selfish_, but he was also asking for help. And Izuna hadn’t been able to hear that plea over his own rage. Could barely remember what Tobirama had said or his reasons (for surely they had been more eloquently spoken than his rage remembered them) because he’d been so consumed by his own frustration. 

Because honestly, though it pained him deeply to admit it even to himself, Izuna wouldn’t trust himself either, in Tobirama’s position. 

A moment’s thought past his instinctual reaction, and Izuna realized he might have made the same exact decision. 

And he might owe Tobirama an apology for it, curse him. 

The next time he saw the man, he would try and aim at least a little contrition at him. Make it clear that Izuna didn’t _like_ the man’s idiotic decision, but he _understood_.

(But he still wanted to punch the man in the face, more than a little for being right when he’d been in the wrong. It was his most aggravating habit.)

And then the days stretched, and Tobirama, the real one, never came back. 

-

Hashirama was elated with how the last few days had gone. Mito was… 

Amazing. He hadn’t thought love could come so easily, thought he’d have to work for it, but so far they were... well matched. 

It wasn’t that she was lovely, though she was. It was more that she was calm. A safe harbor in a world that was increasingly storming around him. 

He knew he could love her. Easily. Wholeheartedly.

He also knew that she was not nearly so in love with him. Not yet, anyways.

But she was trying. She laughed off Touka’s teasing about the wedding night, assured her father _and_ the Daimyo of her commitment to her new family and position without prompting, spent two hours on the road letting Madara regale her with facts about falconry, she even attended Hashirama’s morning discussions with Elders Mutsuhito and Tatsura where they planned for the future. 

A future she was so open and adamant and excited to help them all build. 

Hashirama had petitioned hard for this marriage for reasons more political than personal. He was more than willing to sacrifice his own personal happiness to secure Konoha’s future. He was certain he would never be able to explain the joy in realizing that he didn’t have to.

Happiness could be found in Mito’s smiles as she scolded him, in her pulling him from their bed to bravely start the day after a night worth reveling in. In her bravery, opening up to a stranger. In her kindness, never once making Hashirama ashamed of his penchant for oversharing and optimism. 

She seemed hopeful too. It was only a week and already a better start than he could have hoped for.

But it didn’t change the reality of their current situation. Every report from the village drew her delicate brows together in worry as she understood more in them than Hashirama had expected. 

Did he mention she was brilliant?

(For the first time in his life, far and beyond any winning streak he’d ever had, he felt _lucky_. Blessed by his birth rather than burdened.)

She was. Her sharp mind easily made the connection between the glowing reports of harmony, and the potential danger. She knew as well as he did that their delight at the good news _needed_ to be tempered with caution.

Still, when they approached Konoha’s gates and found a celebration awaiting them, all he could see and feel was pride. Pride in his Village and in everything they had so far accomplished. 

He wanted to show her everything. 

The Yamanaka Clan Head, a tall blond man with handsome features, met them at the gate, along with several other prominent Village members who greeted their entire entourage warmly.

“Yamanaka-sama, what’s this?” he asked, beaming. 

Inoue smiled at him and Mito, in their place at the head of the returning procession.

“Welcome home, Hokage-sama. Princess Mito, please allow me to speak for all of Konohagakure when I say that you are most welcome.”

Hashirama couldn’t contain his proud and elated grin at the words and the beautiful bouquet of Fire Country flowers Inouye handed his wife, even as she glanced at him with a look that gave away nothing. 

But she put on a smile of her own and accepted them graciously. “Thank you, Yamanaka-sama. I’m honored.” 

She bowed, and every representative from his village bowed back and it was-

Perfect. 

The whole evening was perfect. The warm, summer sky shifted from blue streaked with brilliant oranges and reds to the beginnings of indigo night as they all walked through what was clearly intended to be a celebration to remember. 

The market was filled with the specialities from each one of the three dozen or so clans who called Konoha home. Everything was displayed to dazzle and evoke wonder. From the Shimura’s famous ceramics, to the huge looms and intricate tapestries of the Yuuhei weavers, to the flaming spins of the Uchiha fire dances. 

Food of every kind imaginable made Hashirama’s mouth water after days on the road. At the center of it all, the Yamanaka’s had created living sculptures of Whirlpool sea serpents shaped from a vibrant array of flowers, which marked the entrance to the main square in front of the Hokage tower, where it seemed like the entirety of the village had turned out to welcome them home. 

And Hashirama was _delighted_ when he found Tobirama waiting with the rest of the Elder’s Council on the Tower steps. 

He was delighted when he introduced Tobirama to his wife, and his brother bowed to her and said, “Welcome to Konohagakure. It is an honor,” just a little awkwardly and it seemed that he’d let bygones be bygones for once and was genuinely happy to see them. 

Delighted when Mito smiled at his awkward brother and said, “The honor is mine.”

Delighted when he heard the list of festivities, from dances, to exhibition matches, and even an Akamichi eating contest, that were set to end with fireworks at midnight.

Delighted when he saw, from the corner of his eye, Touka grabbing his brother in the ferocious hug that Hashirama wished he could’ve been the one to give (were the eyes of the Village not on him). Delighted because he’d had that hug a week ago and knew how welcome it had been. Touka had been well missed.

Delighted beyond words at the sheer cooperation and unity on display here for his wife to see.

But mostly, he was delighted that there was a full hour set aside for them to go to their home, bathe, and dress in something not covered in dirt from the road. 

He was so delighted, in fact, that he didn’t see the glance Mito shared with Uncle Mutsuhito as he led her to the Senju main house, distracted by what felt like a thousand well-wishes from everyone they passed. 

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” he said to them both. “I can’t believe they managed all of this in the week that we were gone. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

“Perhaps the divisions were not as pronounced as you had feared, husband?”

Hashirama went to smile at her in agreement, but Mustuhito answered from where he was shadowed in the doorway.

“Possibly,” the severe old man said. “But nephew, you must consider how this whole affair will appear.”

“What do you mean, uncle?” Hashirama didn't understand. What he saw was a village united for once. A brother who was happy to see him, had done what he’d asked and brought back together a village he’d nearly fractured. 

Saw hope. 

But Mutsuhito didn’t look hopeful. Neither did Mito.

“You must consider what it _looks_ like. Tobirama has been, at the very least, putting himself forward as your replacement, and when he leaves the Village, things fall apart. But when you leave…”

It didn’t take his brother’s level of genius to see what his uncle was implying, but Hashirama was just about fed up with it. He knew Mutsuhito meant well, but-

He shouted a sigh. “I don’t understand. You tell me his disinterest and disobedience is disloyalty, and now want me to believe that this, as clear a sign of support for the Village as can be possible, is _also_ a sign of disloyalty? Perhaps you are jumping at the shadows of ghosts, uncle.”

“That’s not necessarily what he’s saying,” Mito assured him, resting her hand on Hashirama’s shoulder and drawing his eyes to hers. “From what I saw, Tobirama seems perfectly sincere, but appearances aren’t something you can ignore. You know that.”

From her, it gave him pause. “And what do you suggest?”

“I’m not sure. I would rather take some time to better understand the situation before we come to any decision. But I’m not sure we can afford to wait,” she answered.

That she used the word ‘we’, gave him a thrill even as her meaning gave him pause. Mito had agreed with allowing him the decision of not making any move to stop his brother should Tobirama ever turn truly dangerous, but it was her life in jeopardy now too.

Clearly, she saw things he did not. Could not. And if, with her help, he could avert that river before it ran its course, well....

Hashirama hoped for nothing more desperately

So, he sighed and turned to the only person he had left to seek real advice from.

“Uncle, what do you think?”

To his credit, Mutsuhito seemed to mull the question over carefully, the lines on his iron face deepening with thought.

“Perhaps, send Tobirama from the village for a while, just until things settle. Nothing dangerous or beneath him. There can be no chance of giving insult where, as you say, nephew, none is due.”

“But he’s only just returned,” Hashirama said, trying not to sound too much the petulant child. 

It was just-

He had done as required and excluded Tobirama from the wedding. Had left him in charge of the Village as a show of his faith. He couldn’t stand the thought of excluding him from the rest of their family life as well. Especially now, when it was all so new. 

His heart sank like a stone, rough and heavy, at the thought.

Was it so selfish that Hashirama wanted Tobirama to be able to get to know his new sister-in-law? To think that now was the time to be _mending_ bridges?

“As said, nothing strenuous. In fact, I have something in mind, a few merchant ties I’ve been meaning to establish with my contacts in the Land of Wind caravans. I can think of no better emissary than your brother. Especially in light of his success with the Hyuuga.”

Hashirama still wasn’t sure. It didn’t feel right. Any of it.

But looking at Mito, seeing stress-lines that hadn’t adorned her face a week before, he knew that, in this, as in all things, he couldn’t be selfish.

“Fine,” the Hokage gave in. “Fine. Uncle, I trust you to handle it?”

Mutsuhito bowed to him and said, “You have my word.”

-

Touka felt like she could float, the weight off her shoulders was so profound. Her mission had been a resounding success, the newlywed couple happy as could be, and herself finally home safe. That she had a festival to look forward to, _sake_ to drink, and food to eat with her favorite cousin she hadn’t seen in _months_ only made it sweeter.

By the Sage, it was good to be home, even if she hardly recognized the place. The last time Touka had been here, there had been more tents than houses, dirt streets, and only occasional plumbing. Imagine her surprise at finding a fully grown city where nothing but forest had been not eight months ago.

And what a sight that city was to see. Her cousins had certainly been busy. 

At least she was able to find her way home alright.

She hadn’t been surprised that her mother hadn’t been at the festival. She knew how fragile she was, how tiring she found just having a conversion with one or two people, and how quickly faces in the crowd could melt into someone familiar and heartbreaking.

No, she didn’t mind that her mother had stayed home. But that didn’t mean she didn’t miss her. 

So, she’d abandoned Tobirama to his _new_ friends, the little Hyuuga heiress, a grouchy looking Nara, and, lo and behold, Uchiha Hikaku. 

Who would have thought?

On the one hand, she was so unspeakably proud of her cousin for making anything remotely resembling a friendly acquaintance. _She_ knew Tobirama was amazing, that he felt deeply and tried so hard, but she also knew that most people were either idiots or too soft for him to actually enjoy their company. And usually both. 

On the other, did he have to pick Hikaku? 

It wasn’t personal. It was just that after years of facing him on the battlefield, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to ever look him in the eye and not flinch.

Those eyes could hurt, could ruin. Had more than once taken her deepest fears and shoved them in her face, had twisted her mind around so badly with his veritable witchcraft that she could hardly close her eyes for days without re-seeing the horror. 

But that’s what this whole peace thing was about, right? She resolved to give him a chance, for Tobirama’s sake if nothing else. It wasn’t often her cousin made a friend, and his judgement was good enough for her. 

She was so lost in thought, she didn’t notice the house was dark when she arrived, that there was no light on in the entryway to welcome her, not a sound from within. Didn’t notice as she slipped her shoes off in the _genkan_.

“Mom, I’m home!” she cried out, to no answer.

Huh. Weird.

“Mom?” she called out a little louder.

Silence. 

Maybe her mother had gone out after all? Tobirama didn’t think she’d be attending the festivities, but maybe the move had been better for Niita than Touka had thought?

But her shoes were still here in their home. 

Touka ventured further into the darkened house. The further, the stranger. Her tidy mother’s house coat on the back of a chair, rather than on it’s usual peg. Dinner half-cleared from the table. 

A single light on in the kitchen. 

“Mom?” Touka asked as she rounded the corner and came to a dead stop. 

Her _naginata_ fell from her hand at the sight of the tiny, fragile body on the floor. 

-

Tobirama had never liked hospitals. Not since he was a child and had attended the Senju’s every week as they tried to find out how frail his albinism would make him. His first memories came earlier than most and mostly included needles and tests in rooms just like this one, his mother’s gentle hands cradling him, Hashirama’s brown eyes staring up at him from his place by his mother's knee as doctors discussed everything that was wrong with him.

He would prefer reliving that moment to this one. To seeing his favorite cousin hunched in an uncomfortable chair, cradling the hand of the only aunt who had ever even tolerated him. 

A stroke. The doctors said she might never wake up. 

Touka’s eyes were red-rimmed. Hashirama had left a few minutes ago, leaving Tobirama alone with Touka. Tobirama wished he hadn’t. Hashirama had always been better at comforting people than him. 

Touka was _hurting_, shaken and shattered in a way he hadn’t seen her since Butsuma had brought her father home dead. 

Everything that had happened over the last several months, every slight against him had felt impersonal. It was happening to him, but not about him.

This however, felt personal. Felt like a direct attack on those he cared about. He’d been ready to tear the village down, in reply for it, but-

But.

Hashirama had done the healing, had done everything he could for her, and had not seen any sign of anything other than a weak and frail woman having a severe stroke. 

Hashirama was many things, but included in that was the absolute fact that he was the best healer the world had even known. And that any poison or foul play would have been as obvious to him as the sun rising. 

There was none. Hashirama was sure. Just a terrible, tragic, coincidence. No one else to blame but fate. 

And himself. 

Grief hollowed him out and guilt flooded in and swelled in its wake, suffocating. 

Tobirama didn’t know what to say to her, for all he felt like he should say _something_. Surely, there was something to say in times like this, some words meant to give comfort where there was none to be had, some that might share and then lessen the burden he could feel sitting on his heart? 

None came to mind. 

He didn’t think she wanted him to say anything, anyways. There was nothing really _to_ say.

But she was _family_. And he was awful at this, but he had to say something. So, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Touka looked up from her mother’s unresponsive form. Didn’t turn to look back at him, though, just stared out across the space.

“You’re sorry?” Her voice was cracked from crying. 

They’d known each other their entire lives, and he knew that she wasn’t done yet, and tried to brace himself. Touka’s anger could be brash and misplaced, but he was sure that this time it would hit the mark.

And he’d been so happy to see her.

“My mother laid on the floor for _hours_, without anyone noticing, and you’re _sorry_?”

There were a thousand excuses he could think of, a thousand reasons why he hadn’t checked on Niita that day, that week. He had so little time to carve out for anything but the vital necessities of the Village, there was no more to give. He’d tried his best, had been trying his best for so long just to keep this all together, to build them all a future, a home. One where they could all be safe. 

But it all counted for nothing. Not when-

“You said you’d look out for her. You _promised_.”

“I know. I tried-” he cut himself off, knowing that it wouldn’t help, would only make her angrier, but it was too late. 

Touka whipped her head around just enough to glare at him over her shoulder, face contorted with something so much worse than rage.

Anguish.

“Well, you didn’t try hard enough!”

Her disappointment was worse than the knife he’d taken between his ribs all those weeks ago. 

Especially since she was _right_. Right enough to freeze him into stone.

That vindication didn’t seem to bring her any pleasure though, and she crumpled from the weight of it.

“I’m sorry-.” The sound cracked out of her like a felled tree, crashing and creaking back down to earth. “-I didn’t... I know it’s not your fault. But-”

Like a blow waiting to fall, Tobirama could see all the ways in which her words would hurt him. Could read the strike coming easily, but it wasn’t one he knew how to brace for.

“-I just can’t stand to look at you right now.”

He was right. But he couldn’t leave it there. He had to try to offer her some solace, to comfort her. “I-”

She didn’t want any. Not from him. “I know, just go. Please.”

“Touka, I-”

“Get out!”

The ricochet of those words could tear them apart. Tobirama had no choice but to swallow the knot in his throat and ignore whatever it was he thought he needed. 

_She_ needed him gone.

So, he left. Turned and slipped out of the room, closing the door as quietly as he could. It did nothing to stop the way that the wracking sobs coming through it tore into him. 

All he had left was on the other side of this door. 

He let his hand linger on the lacquered wood for only a moment, before turning away.

As always, there was much to do. 

The figure that stopped him in the halfway was a surprise, and not a particularly welcome one. 

His uncle Mutsuhito was stalwart, resilient, with a backbone of iron. A pillar of their clan.

But he’d been Butsuma’s right hand. His equal in nature and temperament. And likewise, he had never found Tobirama worth anything at all.

More, he had never sought out Tobirama for anything but delivering bad news. 

“Tobirama,” Mutsuhito said, voice deep and stern, “My condolences.”

Tobirama nodded, thinking idly that these were the exact same words Mutsuhito had used the last time his uncle sought him out for a private word, just after his father died. Like then, this was evidently the extent of the pleasantries. 

Tobirama had long ago accepted that this uncle only had time to speak with him when there was a family tragedy. He thought it might be dislike that held his uncle’s tongue, but Mutsuhito was Batsuma’s right hand the way Tobirama was meant to be Hashirama’s. There was no need for them to like each other, after all. They were family. 

Mutsuhito held out a scroll.

A mission scroll.

Now? He couldn’t leave. Not _now_. Though exiled from the room itself, his presence was still required at the hospital. He couldn’t just _leave_.

“It comes directly from the Hokage,” Mutsuhito pressed, even as Tobirama opened his mouth to protest. “It cannot wait.”

Tobirama knew his face had bent into a scowl, ferocious and terrifying to most, as it sharpened the already dramatic lines of his face. 

However, Mutsuhito was cut from a different cloth than most and didn’t flinch. He handed over the scroll when Tobirama reached for it. 

“What is it?” the albino asked, not opening the mission scroll in his uncle’s presence right away per protocol. The messenger may not always be privy to the message they delivered, after all. He examined it for the proper security protocols as a precaution. 

“The Hokage didn’t say, only that it was urgent. You’re to leave immediately.”

Tobirama looked up sharply.

Mutsuhito met his gaze, sharp eyes hard as he reiterated, “Without _any_ delay.”

Tobirama noted that the scroll was not marked for secrecy and opened it to confirm his uncle’s words. It appeared Tobirama was to be Konoha’s response to a bandit attack on a nearby civilian settlement Konoha protected as a part of a mutual trade agreement. The attack had left several civilians dead and the others in mortal peril but-

Surely, there was someone else who could handle this? 

And yet the words on the page didn’t change.

It was Hashirama’s seal, Hashirama’s hand. The same hand that had rested on his shoulder, heavy and more reassuring than it should have been, not half an hour ago. The same hand that had just stabilized their aunt when any other healer on the continent might have called her a lost cause. 

That same hand had written this. Had ordered him away on a mission that should have gone to anyone else while their aunt was in the hospital. Better still to send a whole team out to show how seriously Konoha took their alliances. 

If the bandits had not dispersed, were waiting to attack the village again when it resupplied (as it must if they were to survive the winter), it was dangerous to send a lone shinobi against an unknown, larger force. 

It was dangerous, perhaps deliberately so. All of Tobirama’s missions of late had been fraught, but this one, this one felt different. There was no coincidence of danger but only because it was clearly overt, and the timing of it was obviously punitive. Even Tobirama knew that sending just one shinobi on a mission like this was-

Stupid. 

And Hashirama wasn’t stupid. He might play the fool, be naive where a leader could ill afford to be, but he was solid enough on military matters to know exactly what he might be sending his brother into.

He’d been certain. But how then? What if-

What if he’d been wrong?

“I’m sorry, nephew,” said Mutsuhito, sounding truly sorrowful for the first time in Tobirama’s memory. He met his uncle’s gentle gaze, surprised at its depth of sincerity he saw there when the man put a hand on his shoulder. “It has to be this way. Duty, family, honor. You know which comes first.”

Tobirama did. His father had pounded those words into his bones. And he knew. He knew his place.

He smoothed out his face and rerolled the scroll, tucking it into a pouch at his hip.

“Very well,” Tobirama said.

Mutsuhito nodded. He seemed actually proud.

It set Tobirama's teeth on edge.

Tobirama gave him the most shallow bow required, and ghosted by.

There was much to do. And evidently, little time to do it in. 

-

Uchiha Saiyuri had never known what to do with her wayward youngest. Today was no exception.

“Let me go!” Kagami shouted, trying to yank his arm out of her grip, but she was hardly going to listen.

“You were told to stay in your room and that’s where you are going to go.”

“No!” he shouted, as though she was the one being unreasonable. “I have to go see Tobi!”

His feet slipped across the smooth wooden floors of their new house as she dragged him, yet again, back to his room.

“We’ve been over this, Kagami. You’re not to see him again.”

No one had ever told her that motherhood would be so terrifying. That children could be so fragile. And stupid. They had no understanding of consequences. Not like her, whose heart had stopped when she’d heard that her youngest had been with the Ghost all this time. 

She should have known. She should have known that Kagami would find danger wherever he went. 

Whether her son wanted to understand or not, Senju Tobirama was dangerous. 

She’d seen firsthand what he’d done to her kin. She wouldn’t risk her son becoming another victim of that Senju’s hatred for their family. She couldn’t.

“He’s my friend! And Auntie Niita! I said I’d-”

Temper snapping, Saiyuri yanked at his arm, hauling her child to her. “He’s not your friend!” she shouted at him in her terror, “He’s a Senju and he’ll kill you without a thought!”

“No! You’re wrong! He told me so! He told me that he’s my friend and he needs my help!”

In such a rage as only terror can bring out in a parent, she grabbed his shoulders and _shook_.

“Listen to me, you stupid boy! Tobirama is dangerous. He’s killed _dozens_ of your cousins. Dozens! They were all shinobi and older and wiser than you and Senju Tobirama sent them home in pieces!”

His little face was full of ugly tears and snot and she wanted to feel vindicated that for once he looked as scared as he made her feel every time he ran off into danger, but she didn’t.

She just felt sick. 

“H-he wouldn’t do that,” he tried to protest. “He’s my friend.” 

She scoffed and straightened, grabbing his hand once more.

This time when she took him to his room, he didn’t protest. He was too busy crying. 

Every step grew heavier with her own guilt. She didn’t want to hurt her baby, didn’t relish seeing him upset and hurting because, in his own goodheartedness, he’d tried to befriend a monster.

Sighing, she stopped outside his bedroom door, and looked back. He was still sobbing, quietly now so she wouldn’t hear. Her brave little boy who always ran headlong into danger without a thought. Who was always so sure of himself, while she could do nothing but worry and her heart was breaking. 

All of this was wrong.

Kneeling in her kimono, she brought him into her arms, and held him tight while his sobs dampened her shoulder. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I just want you to be safe.”

He keened, crying too hard to answer and it cracked her. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” she tried to soothe, rubbing a hand up and down his back as he hiccuped, until he’d finally calmed down enough to at least hear her.

“Okay, tell you what,” she said, using her sleeve to wipe away the mess on his face, “When he returns to the Village, I’ll speak to Tobirama. And then we’ll see, okay?”

But he shook his head vehemently, saying, “No, I need to see him-”

“I’m your mother. It’s my job to protect you. I need to speak to him _first_. Until then, you will be patient and do as you’re told.”

Which was just as much of a compromise as she was willing to give on this. She wasn’t sure how she would- if she would be able to stare down the Ghost and question his intentions, but-

It was clearly important to her boy. Important enough for him to run away from his minders, even her, four times in the last two days alone. She doubted that if Ryusei had to go fetch him _again_ for her, he would hesitate in imparting his own lesson on obedience to the boy. 

They were a shinobi clan. Discipline and obedience were not optional. If she couldn’t control her son, someone else would.

Mulishly, with his chin jutting out and stubborn, he finally, _finally_ nodded. 

“Good,” she said sternly. “Now, get in your room. You’re going to stay there until dinner.”

She didn’t let his dejection make her waver again. This time, he didn’t argue.

It was more difficult than she would have liked to see that as a good thing.

-

“It’s preferential treatment and I won’t stand for it!”

Mito measured the small man shouting at her. He was elderly enough to have better manners. But she was no longer at home where men knew better than to shout at her like toddlers.

She’d only been here a few days and already she was missing home. People there were at least a little better at hiding their idiocy, something that she tried to commiserate with the Uchiha Clan Head standing behind her, supposedly in support. 

But when she glanced back at him from where she sat at her husband’s desk, he showed no interest. He wasn’t even looking their way, just staring out the window. 

How irritating. 

She didn’t let it show as she turned back to the man who was clearly waiting for an answer and smiled at him, turning her teacup. “As I understand it, the terms of your clan’s uniting with Konohagakure have already been established.”

She let the other man, the Shimura Clan’s most senior elder, stutter and bluster for only a moment before cutting back in. “And one of those terms, was that you would abide by the decisions of the Hokage and the other duly appointed councils in all matters civil, criminal, and legislative. Including delaying the _Komon_ elections to allow for the votes of hundreds of fighting shinobi on the cusp of joining our village to be counted.”

“The date of the elections has been set for months! The addition of the Hyuuga-”

“Will not delay it to any significant degree. As you said, it has already been months. What are a few weeks more?”

The smile she sent the old man was perfectly placide and polite, but didn’t give an inch.

“What ar- They will entirely change the landscape of the vote! It’s-”

“All the more reason for the necessity of the delay. In fact, that’s rather the point, isn’t it, Uchiha-dono?” she asked Madara directly, trying to draw at least his nominal interest.

“I don’t understand why we’re even having this discussion,” Madara said, shrugging, but still not turning to actually participate. “It’s not as if the vote hasn’t already been cast and carried in all but name.”

Mito nodded, but Shimura continued to contest regardless, which at least got Madara to at least look back towards them.

“And what about those who have already joined! We pledged our loyalty first, not weeks after the peace between the Senju and the Uchiha was declared! If the-”

Behind her, she heard the Uchiha Clan Head’s feathers ruffle. She’d only known Madara for a few weeks, but already she knew two important things, that he wasn’t as invested in the Village as he needed to be, and that he wasn’t as stable as he pretended to be. 

He stayed silent, though, and let her answer, which she appreciated. 

“Shimura-dono,” she said, setting down her teacup, “Perhaps you need a reminder. Within Konohagakure, all clans are _equal_. There will be no preferential treatment.”

“Then how do you explain the delay for the _Hyuug-_”

“You’re not listening,” Madara snapped. “This is a non-issue. It’s already been decided. And I grow tired of reiterating the point, time and again.” 

Mito looked at him from the corner of her eye, and withheld her sigh. At least the spike of killing intent accompanying his words made the Shimura shut up, even if it was more… indelicate than she would have preferred. 

“Well, I-,” the blowhard gathered himself to continue his pointless tirade, “I just think that there are thin-”

Madara’s killing intent, rising with every word from the Shimura’s mouth, was becoming suffocating, even for her, so she sighed and stood. 

“Your concerns are noted, Elder Shimura,” she placated him with a smile that did not reach her eyes. Madara wasn’t the only one annoyed. “But unfortunately, the Hokage’s office is not in the position to override the Martial Council’s decision. So you see, we could not move the vote even if we wanted to.”

Shimura’s face turned red as he glanced between them.

“Perhaps I would be better taking my concerns directly to the Hokage,” he said, rather stupidly in Mito’s opinion. 

It did make her pause, though. 

She and Hashirama had only been married for less than a week, and while she’d spent months preparing for it, reading every bit of information about Konohagakure that she could pry out of the dignitaries and delebations sent to barter on the new Village’s behalf, the fact could not be overlooked. This Village was a new idea, with possibilities and laws and ideals of peace and she was more than ready to help, excited even to be a part of it all. 

However, she was also aware that she was still an outsider. While she didn’t think Hashirama would mind her stepping in to handle this man, had thought this to be his meaning when he said they were partners. When he asked her to deal with this fire while he went and put out another one elsewhere, she’d even been given Madara’s presence to help soothe any rough patches while she did so. But she didn’t know for certain that it had been his intention. Perhaps she’d misunderstood. Perhaps Hashirama wasn’t the kind of man who would appreciate his wife acting in his stead. 

“Get out.” 

Mito’s eyes snapped to Madara. Obviously, he didn’t share her hesitation. Or, he’d simply lost his patience. 

The Shimura’s eyes were also on the Uchiha. He finally seemed to notice several things in quick succession, all of which had been clear on the Uchiha’s face and posture for some time by now. One: that the Shimura’s life was quickly veering into peril. Two, that Mito was going to do nothing in his defense, and three, that faced with the Hokage’s best friend and his _wife_, this was not a fight he was going to win, regardless. 

“Get. Out.” Madara’s preparation for homicide was more apparent with each word. His foot slid forward a very telling half an inch as he prepared his stance. 

Mito shifted hers to match. Getting an Elder’s blood on the carpet the first time her husband trusted her in his office seemed bad form. 

Luckily, Shimura took the hint. Gathering the tatters of whatever dignity he had left, the man stormed out of the office in a great show of advancing to the rear, muttering and huffing to himself in a tone pitched to carry as he did. She thought she heard the name Tobirama somewhere in the stuttering, but she refused to listen to one more word.

That name _again_. 

“Fucking moron,” Madara hissed as the door finally closed. “It wasn’t like he was going to be elected anyways.”

Strangely, that didn’t make her feel any better. She grit her teeth and smiled. It was a tight, frustrated thing. “Madara-dono, please sit. Have some tea with me?” 

“And it’s not as tho-”

“Madara,” she turned and pinned him with a hard stare and perfect smile, “Have tea with me.”

He blinked, and crossed his arms, seemingly embarrassed, but came over to the desk. He even took a seat while she poured tea into the spare cup balanced on a stack of papers. She set the pot back down on yet another stack before retaking her place in Hashirama’s chair, feeling again that it was still too big for her. 

Madara brought over a spare chair from where they lined the wall, ready for the long conferences this room saw daily. He spun it when he reached her, and sat in it backwards, draping his crossed arms over the back of it like a lazy youth.

She knew he was using the chair itself to place something physical between them, to give her some space after his outburst, a reassurance that he would be impeded should he try coming at her, but it wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t afraid. Instead, she was using the ceremony of pouring the tea to give herself time to turn over her own thoughts. 

While on the one hand she appreciated Madara’s defence, on the other she had to concede that Shimura might have had a point. Not about the delay of the vote, of course. That had been duly voted on and passed by the established legislature and no amount of complaining, to the Hokage or otherwise, would change that. But the Shimura elder had a point about having a right to speak with the _actual_ Hokage about his grievance, however foolish. Or at least someone with an official position as the Hokage’s representative who was capable of hearing such grievances and passing judgement. Someone not his wife and friend. Nepotism, no matter what form, was probably not a good precedent to establish so early in this new Village’s existence. 

But Hashirama was busy being a peacemaker. He didn’t have time to listen to arguments about the minutiae of Village life. He was doing his best to keep up with the missions that supplied most of the village's income and the disaster that was current affairs.

It seemed like the whole world had been turned upside down with the foundation of peace between two powers. Peace in one place meant war in another it seemed, which she had learned was devastating news to her husband. 

Hashirama wanted to stop the wars, not make more. He dedicated almost all of his time to either trying to stabilize things at home or abroad. There was always too much work for any given day, with yet more coming tomorrow, and all of which needed his personal attention. It left him almost no time for the line out his door. 

A line that was still waiting. Mitari poked his head in not moments after Shimua left, while she was still pouring her own drained cup, but she waved him off and back out the door. She and Madara needed some time. 

“Sorry,” Madara said, finally.

“What for?” she asked, acknowledging that the apology was a good start, but not letting him see it on her face. 

“For insinuating that you needed defending. He shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, but I should have let you handle it.”

“Oh, that,” Mito said. “I didn’t mind that exactly. Although you are right, I could have handled it. I could have done without the threatening, though. He’s allowed to have his opinions.”

“Yes, but not demands.”

She could concede that was the truth. “Still, he should be able to address this office in a more official capacity.”

“More official? I’m a founder.”

“Yes, but you have no elected position or title.”

Madara looked displeased at the thought, so she was quick to clarify.

“That does not mean you are not a powerful political figure, just that the position you occupy as second to the Hokage has not been made official.”

Madara hummed and looked into his tea. He didn’t disagree exactly, but she thought she knew what he was thinking. 

He _wasn’t_ second to the Hokage, officially or otherwise. That position had been occupied by another who, while not even here, still occupied the mouths and minds of nearly everyone. 

The rumors weren’t dying down as quickly as they had hoped. If anything, they were getting worse, even if she was somewhat at a loss as to why.

It didn’t matter either way. At this point, there was nothing to do but stay the course.

“Either way,” she continued back to the topic at hand, “Shimura’s underlying complaint cannot be ignored. There are many men who were once powerful and influential who now have nothing to do. They will need positions of prestige to keep them occupied.”

Madara snorted. “Reward such behavior? I don’t think so.”

“No, but we shouldn’t punish him for it either. He’s already been terrified. That’s likely enough.”

Madara hummed, but he seemed amused now. And no longer angry. Which was the main goal of this distraction. 

Dissuade and distract. Then move on. No need to dwell. It would only bring back the instability. 

That was something Madara could work out in his own time. It was unlikely that anything she said would do any good anyways. She’d never lost a sibling and couldn’t even really imagine it. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to spend more time with Hashirama,” said Madara, interrupting her train of thought. 

What a useless sentiment.

“I’m not. He is the Hokage. He is needed elsewhere and by many more people than just myself.” 

“He’s a good man,” said Madara, as though reaffirming it to himself as well as her.

“Yes,” she agreed, “Which is why I don’t mind.”

Madara looked down at his tea thoughtfully but seemed content to let the conversation lapse. 

So, Mito turned her thoughts to making headway in actually solving the issue at hand. There was much work still to be done in the foundations of this village, too much, and too few people trying to do it. Surely, if the petty internal squabbles between villagers could be solved amongst themselves….

“There must be a way for villagers to solve disputes without pulling Hashirama away from where he is truly needed,” she mused. 

Madara set down his now empty tea cup and nodded. “I believe Tobirama has the outline for a judicial system and a few drafted laws he wants to be ratified by the two councils soon.”

“Really?” Mito asked, interested in seeing the kind of judicial system a polarizing figure like Tobirama had theorized. Perhaps it could provide some answers. Everything she heard about Tobirama was such a contradiction. He wanted the village to fail, he wanted to take over its leadership. Hopefully, his own words might be more clarifying. 

Nodding, Madara said, “I don’t know much about it. I passed it over to Yano when I found it.”

“Hmm.” Mito sipped her tea. She had only met Tobirama’s new assistant in passing. “I’d like to see it.”

“Ask Yano about it. I’m sure he knows all the details by now.” 

Very well. She would do that. 

Mitari ducked his head in again, looking hesitantly pleading, as the petitioners outside were no doubt getting restless. 

She sighed. They were out of tea anyways. 

“You know,” she said to Madara, who had watched the byplay between the Hokage’s wife and assistant and read it well enough to understand that their break was over, and was putting his chair away. “I really can handle this. You don’t need to stay.”

Mito was well aware confidence was key to ruling. She was the daughter of the Headman of Whirlpool, a man who’d been re-elected consecutively to that position for over thirty years. If there was one thing she knew, it was politics. Leaning on Madara might be easier now, but it might complicate her future position, or her husbands if she continued to allow it. 

But Madara shook his head and made his own decision. “No,” he said, “I’ll stay.”

She allowed it without protest, and gave him a more personal, private smile. It would be good to have company, and an ally for the upcoming battles. 

Besides, maybe he also had something to prove? 

Setting aside her empty teacup, she took a deep, fortifying breath and called up her calm, before nodding to Mitari to send the next one in. 

-

Exhaustion had a specific smell. Like the smell of rain before the storm and copper and just a hint of stomach acid. It was only made worse by the stench of drying sweat and blood that seemed to hang around Senju Tobirama whenever he passed her on the streets between the Hokage Tower and the gate. 

It made Akiko’s hackles rise. 

Worse was when he ghosted by her protests with a simple, “I have a mission,” and, “It’s none of your concern,” when she tried to stop him to see what on earth was going on.

It was the same reason he’d given the last time she’d seen him. And the time before, and the time before that. Just a few moments passing each other in the street every few days, but even that was enough to see that he was being run into the ground.

He looked dead on his feet. The whole street had been staring as he’d brushed her off. 

But why? It didn’t make any sense. If there was a mission so sensitive only Tobirama was allowed to partake in it, then surely she, as a Clan Head, would be privy to it? If not the details, then at least the necessity of it. And, surely he would also have help? 

But no one else left with him. No one else walked the streets with him. Akiko watched carefully to be sure, and she still couldn’t understand why one of their finest shinobi was being run into the ground. 

Was it some perverse kind of punishment? For what? And even if it was, this wasn’t- this wasn’t how things should be done.

Something she’d made very clear in her formal complaint to the Hokage Tower. 

Their written reply back crumpled in her hands as she read it.

_Thank you for your concern. It will be taken under all proper advisement._

Bullshit. She was of half a mind to go up to the Hokage’s office herself and let the man know exactly what she thought of his treatment of his own kin. The only reason she didn’t leave immediately was that she was sure Tobirama would not appreciate it, (he’d made as much clear in his answer to her query) but if he got any worse...

Well. She would take the chance. He could only nurse a bruised ego if he was alive to do so. 

There was a knock on her office door.

“What?” she snarled. She’d given pretty specific instructions that she didn’t want to be disturbed.

“Kaa-san?” Toboe peaked around the door carefully.

She supposed an exception could be made for half-grown pups.

“What is it?” she asked.

“There’s a Senju elder here to see you.”

… To see her? Here? At the Hatake compound, where none had ever set foot? So soon after her complaint in Tobirama’s defence was summarily ignored by their own Clan Head? 

Three guesses as to why they were here, but she severely doubted she needed more than the one. Especially once she recognized the old man waiting in her _genkan_.

“Omura-sama. What an honor it is to receive you,” she said the rote words required, but barely got them out before the old man bowed and began to speak.

“Hatake-sama, thank you so much for receiving me. Please, may I come in?” he asked as he removed his shoes and strode in without waiting for her reply. “There is very little time and I fear there are eyes and ears even here.”

“... Come on in,” she muttered pointlessly, as the man had already done just that.

She followed him into the main room, bemused at his gaul (the Senju must let their elders on a far longer leash than the Hatake), where Toboe had no doubt just sat back down. He shot her a startled look, which she returned with a jerk of her head, clear instructions for him to vacate, now. 

He sighed, but heaved himself up, still more limbs than he knew quite what to do with, and slouched out of the room without a word of protest. 

Good boy. 

She turned her attention to the pacing, fretting Senju making holes in her _tatami_ mats.

“Would you care to sit?” she asked, only a little sarcasm in her voice. 

“Oh, Hatake-sama, it’s just terrible. I just- I am at a loss. I don’t know who to turn to anymore. It’s as if my entire Clan has betrayed reason for madness! Even Hashirama-sama- it’s- his own _brother_, who has done so much-”

“Slow down, Elder,” Akiko said firmly while she measured the man across from her with a level gaze. “What are you talking about?”

He took several deep breaths. 

“It is about Tobirama, a man with whom I know you are acquainted,” he said with a hint of pleading. 

Crossing her arms, she nodded, but gave nothing away.

This man was a stranger in her house.

“I am. What about him?”

“W-well you’ve seen it! I know you have. The whole village knows that you’ve tried to intercede on his behalf. My poor stupid nephew is going to let them _kill_ him if someone doesn’t do something!”

“Kill hi-”

“Because Hashirama is a disaster, not worth the name he bears and he would rather kill his own brother than-”

He was speaking nearly too quickly for her to actually make out the specific words, but the gist was more than clear.

“Senju-sama,” she tried to interrupt again, to get the man to calm down. 

“And they will make it look like _he’s_ at fault, that they’ve done nothing but fed him to his own incompetence when Tobirama is _anything_ but incompetent. It is _they_ who have always been incompetent, and they know that Tobirama should have been the Clan Head-”

“Omura!” she shouted, and finally, finally the other man stuttered to a stop. “What are you talking about? From the beginning.”

A few deep breaths later, the man finally bowed as he should have when she first saw him, and said, “Please forgive me, Hatake-sama, but surely you understand the dread that comes from having a beloved family member in jeopardy?”

She glared. She’d spent her whole life at war. “Of course I do. Make your point.”

“Hashirama is trying to kill his brother.”

First rule of warfare, never let the enemy know what you know. She wasn’t sure of much about this situation, but there was one thing she knew.

Behind the tears welling, the sweaty palms and jittery nerves, behind the very competent display of genuine distress, this man _reeked_ of deceit. 

“Omura-sama,” she began, tone even. “You must have a very good reason to come into my home pedalling treason to a Clan Head you’ve never met.”

“Not treason, _sanity!_” he protested, appearing desperate. “Hashirama was already a danger to Tobirama when he was just our Clan Head, but now? Now, he is Hokage, with all the Clans of the Land of Fire under his spell. He will act, and once Tobirama is out of the way, there will be no stopping him.”

“Stopping him from what?” she asked.

Omura took a few full steps towards her and dropped his voice, whispering, “Total domination. He will wipe out the others, anyone who might oppose him and there will be no one left able to stop him.”

Part of her wanted to laugh. She had actually met Hashirama. She doubted very much there was more to him than he seemed.

But. 

He was also known as The God of the Shinobi. Shinobi, who traded rumors and lies for secrets and coin and perhaps, just perhaps, he was better at it than anyone thought. 

She put a hand on Omura’s fine kimono and pushed him just enough to make him take a step back out of her space.

“Suppose I believe you,” she allowed. “What would you have me do?”

“You, you are Tobirama’s closest ally among the Clan Heads! You must speak to the others, convince them of what is happening. Before it’s too late!”

“I doubt they would listen to me,” she said reasonably, but he countered.

“They _must_, Hatake-sama. Or the peace we have all prayed for will give way to nothing but _tyranny_.”

Never taking her coal eyes off the man, she measured his words carefully.

There were several possibilities to measure, all needing weighing and debating before she made any decision on what was true, but the one thing she couldn’t ignore, the one thing that stuck out in her mind, was Tobirama’s adamant declaration that _it was none of her business_. She already felt like she’d overstepped once. That going to the Hokage’s office after Tobirama had asked her to leave it alone was a mistake. Omura’s mere presence so soon after she’d received a response, let alone what he was peddling, was indication enough that there were forces at work here beyond her understanding. 

She had been the Head of her clan for almost a decade. She knew when it was best to press forward and keep going and when it was best to retreat and survey her opponent. 

Perhaps another person would have been spurred into action through indignation, might think that they knew better than Tobirama and take the decision out of his hands. But Akiko was a Hatake, and Hatake knew the meaning of loyalty. It was not to reason why, but to do. And die.

She knew resoluteness when she saw it. 

She had shown Tobirama many times now that she was on his side, that she would follow his lead in combat and out of it, but that meant following his lead on this too, especially where the terrain was unfamiliar. 

He had never proved her loyalty misplaced. She would not be the one to do the same. 

Whatever course Tobirama took, she was sure it was the one that would bring him honor. To interfere, to remove from him whatever agency he had left…

This was _his_ family, not hers. Whatever was going on with Tobirama, she had to trust that he could handle it, or would come to her if he couldn’t. 

And besides all of that, her instincts were screaming at her that _this one_ was not to be trusted.

“... Thank you, Omura-sama. I will take what you have said under advisement.”

“B-but Hatake-sama-”

“Good afternoon, Omura-sama,” she said and stepped out of the way of the door. A clear indication for him to leave. 

The man turned red. Furious and flustered, he sputtered out a few half-formed words before settling on, “Mark my words, Hatake, you will rue this day when all I have said comes to pass.”

“Then, I will deal with it then. Or whenever _Tobirama_ asks me to.”

She heard his enraged stomping all the way out of the compound. Just like she heard her boy’s sandals scuff on the other side of the _shoji_.

“You might as well come out, welp.”

The slide of the _shoji_ panel sounded guilty without her even having to look.

“... Sorry, kaa-san,” he said.

She snorted. “Don’t be. You just volunteered.”

The little whine he gave was the only bright part of her whole shitty day. 

-

For the most part, Genkai liked gate guard duty. They were a bit of a homebody, so any day that ended with them in their own house, a cup of tea in hand, and curled up with (maybe) a good book was a day well spent. It had been harder to do before the peace, but now, there was plenty of shinobi work around the village. They didn’t feel bad for taking advantage of that.

It had its disadvantages though. 

Especially when they watched Senju Tobirama, a man they had followed into battle, leave the Village alone one day, only to return three days later noticeably battered.

Tobirama’s eyes slid over to them as the man approached. Even from this distance,Genkai could see that they were more red than normal. Bloodshot.

“You okay, _taicho_?” they asked as they checked him in. 

True, Tobirama wasn’t really his captain, the Senju didn’t use the same ranking system as the Shiranui, but just because they weren’t on a mission together at this moment didn’t mean that Genkai wouldn’t follow Tobirama whenever and wherever he asked. 

“Fine,” Tobirama replied.

Genkai glanced over at Saburo, their partner for the day. The Aburame was pretty hard to read, a family trait apparently, but they had been on gate duty together often enough that Genkai was practiced at noting the man’s unease.

Good. Wasn’t just Genkai who thought Tobirama’s disheveled state was odd then. 

“... You sure about that?” Genkai asked. They’d heard a lot of feeble lies in their life, but that was just straight bullshit.

“It’s none of your concern, Shiranui.”

Bullshit, it wasn’t his concern. One of their top shinobi coming back looking like he’d gone down a waterfall without a raft should be everyone’s concern.

Tobirama was the pillar of the Village. Without him, the whole thing would crumble like a stack of cards. That it hadn’t yet was due, no doubt, to the Senju’s resilience and good judgement. Everyone knew it.

The rule was downtime and medic checks between missions. Genkai knew that, and they knew Tobirama knew that, as the man had _written_ the rule himself. Genkai had even seen the man enforcing for other shinobi.

“Tobirama.”

A gravelly voice drew everyone’s attention.

The man, a Senju by the clan sign on the edges of his plain black _montsuki_ was old and battleworn, with a large scar running down half of his face, cutting through a close trimmed beard the color of steel. His eyes were murky brown and utterly stone. 

“You have a new mission,” the old man said, and held out a mission scroll, rimmed red indicating ‘urgent’.

That didn’t make any sense. Tobirama had only just returned. There was no way-

But this time, in the face of this grizzly old _stranger_, Tobirama took the scroll, glanced it over, and nodded.

“You can resupply on the road,” the old man said.

_What?_

No. No way. Even a bind man could see that Tobirama was exhausted, needed rest.

“I’ll take your report and give it to the Hokage for you.”

Tobirama, _finally_ opened his mouth to contest the blatant break in protocol, but the Elder cut him off.

“Hashirama has ordered it, nephew. There can be no delay.”

So, Tobirama, architect of a thousand rules to defend shinobi from abuse by higher-ups, the man Shiranui knew would rather eat sand than put an underling in a position of unnecessary harm, snatched the scroll and _shishuned_ away. 

Genkai had no choice but to let him go.

When Tobirama returned not a half a day later, the old man was waiting. Again.

Genkai didn’t even know his name, but that old scar-faced bastard was quickly becoming Genkai’s least favorite Konoha resident. 

And it kept happening. Again, and again, and _again_.

Genkai didn’t claim to be a genius like the Senju, but they weren’t stupid.

Something was terribly wrong. 

Whatever it was, Tobirama was usually able to spend barely an hour in the village, if that, before being sent out again. Sometimes, the old man even met him at the gate, not even letting Tobirama enter. Genkai didn’t know if the Hokage really was behind it, but the more Tobirama was visibly run into the ground, the less they cared. They kept waiting for Tobirama to say something, breaking and bending the rule themself to take back to back to back guard shifts, him and Saburo both. They didn’t want to miss any of this. Didn’t want someone else, someone who didn’t know what was going on, who might allow it to happen even more easily. 

The old man never paid them any mind when he was there, didn’t even glance at them as he strode back into the Village. Genkai didn’t know much, but they did know that however whoever was keeping tabs on Tobirama was doing it, they were very thorough.

Until, one night, nearly a week later, the pattern broke. 

Genkai was nearly ready to pass out. Their knees were tired, they hadn’t slept in the entirety of that week, and they’d taken more and more to leaning back against the gate post as they kept watch.

Suddenly, long after dark, way in the distance, nearly completely obscured by the foliage, there was a flash of light, and Tobirama came walking up the road, not even half a day after having left with yet another ‘urgent’ mission scroll.

Genkai looked around. No old man.

“_Taicho_,” Genkai said, straightening. Saburo did the same, his hives audibly buzzing in his agitation, but Tobirama held up a hand.

“Report my comings and goings as usual, but you’ve been on duty for the last week.”

At first, Genkai thought he was scolding them, but… Tobirama waited.

“Yeah. We didn’t want to miss you.”

_Or risk anyone else seeing you._

“Then you are due some downtime.”

Genkai shared a glance with their partner. Saburo’s eyes flickering to meet their own was only just visible behind the man’s glasses.

But Genkai was more than willing to go with it. So, they nodded.

Tobirama continued, “Then perhaps you would be willing to turn in your reports for tonight when you return to duty in a few days.”

Ah.

“Sure thing, _taicho_. Be nice to get some R and R,” the Shiranui said with a shrug. 

Tobirama’s eyes, bloodshot and sunken, shifted to Saburo, who nodded solemnly. 

Tobirama nodded back. Then disappeared into the Village he’d done so much to help build.

Genkai shared another glance with Saburo, but didn’t say anything. Neither of them did. Or ever would. Just crossed their arms and went back to staring into the night. 

Not like anything exciting had happened at all. Least, not as far as anyone else would ever know.

-

If nothing else, working for Senju Tobirama was interesting, to say the least. 

Yano had not been all that excited about it when the offer had come. It was nothing personal; he’d never met the man, and was already inclined to think well of him. Nara, as a rule, didn’t much care how rude or abrasive people were so long as they got the job done well. But it was an administrative position. Administration positions were, as a rule, incredibly tedious, no matter who you were working for. 

That this position in particular promised to be as stressful as it was challenging did nothing to change the fact that it certainly wasn’t an assignment to get excited about. 

But Yano had learned, as all Nara do from a young age, that if you try, you can learn a lot about a person by the echoes they leave. There are ripples that bounce and contort as a person’s shadow passes through reality, simply by the nature of living. These ripples reverberate off other people and things, causing their own ripples until there was a network of current that would not be the same without any given person’s presence. These ripples were as distinctive as fingerprints, clear and individual, to those able to connect the dots and see them. 

It was one of Yano's specialties. He might not be the strongest shinobi among the Nara, certainly not by a long shot, or the most driven, but put him in a position with a decent vantage point and he was more than capable of surveying the field; of identifying the cause and effect that had flowed through different courses of action and led them all here. To Tobirama's office.

The view had turned out to be rather enlightening.

Take, for example, Ishohi’s suspension. 

(Removing the personal was difficult. Yano’s husband had been more than upset in the wake of his suspension, and seeing him upset, seeing his caring husband plagued once more by the nightmares of war, psyche no longer assuaged by the ripples of healing, tormented again as he hadn’t been in years by the blood of the people he’d killed, had left unhealed, on his hands, was its own nightmare. Setting it all aside made him ache. Especially since Yano had been helpless to do anything to assist his husband, nothing but hold him until he went back to sleep and the cycle began again. 

How useless that made him feel and more, left an empirically interesting echo, but a bitter one all the same, and not one he could allow to cloud his vision.)

Ishohi was convinced that the actual root of his suspension wasn’t his ongoing dislike of his boss. He and Senju Watanaka had been trading barbs for months with no consequences, despite Yano’s warnings that they were no longer just among the Yamanaka. Yano had a feeling that this new Senju would be more interested in being obeyed than keeping the most skilled healers employed. Ishohi’s skill had enabled him to form the Nara habit of snapping at the incompetent in the first place. He’d gotten away with it during the war because everyone knew that he could more than back up his cocksure attitude, and that he was inevitably correct besides.

But the Senju were a hierarchy, much more so than any of the other clans Yano had encountered since the village’s founding. Adherence to rank mattered to them in a way that was foreign, and unreasonable to the Yamanaka Clan. 

“If she was just angry that I talked back to her when she was wrong, that Senju would have gotten rid of me weeks ago,” Ishohi protested the night it happened, yanking an angry brush through his blond hair.

Yano had long since put away his book; by the subtle shake in his hand, Ishohi needed his full attention.

“Could be that this is the first time you’ve launched a formal complaint against her,” he said reasonably. 

“Maybe,” Ishohi had conceded, but the glance he sent Yano in the mirror, while probably inscrutable to anyone else, Yano knew all of his husband’s tells. 

“... Unless you _know_ that’s not the reason?” accused Yano flatly.

“It was just a shallow read! I barely grazed her mind.”

“Ishohi,” Yano had admonished, exasperated. “That was extremely reckless. What if she’d noticed? Even Inoue-sama wouldn’t be able to get you out of it, if he didn’t skin you himself.”

“I know,” protested Ishohi. “I just- I had to know, and we both know that she would _never_ notice if I didn’t want her to.”

Sighing, Yano had quietly conceded the point. Ishohi was a more than competent mind walker, even among the Yamanaka. Likely, he was as correct in assessing his own skill with the art as he was in everything else. 

Besides, what was done was done. They might as well make the most of it.

“And what did you learn?” Yano asked.

“Only enough to know that when she should have been gloating over her victory over me, she wasn’t thinking about _me_.”

Even Yano could admit it; that was more than a little suspicious. But there was nothing either of them could do. When Inoue-sama had intervened and spoken to the hospital director himself, he’d been told that circumventing the punishment for one would undermine it irrevocably for the future. The Yamanaka Clan Head had extrapolated that logic and realized that going over the director’s head and speaking directly with the Hokage would have the same effect. Unable to see how he could push further without risking the Yamanaka’s position, Inoue-sama had let the line of inquiry go. 

When his own Clan Head, who Yano hadn’t seen in months, a product more of him having moved in with his Yamanaka husband than any malice, showed up at his door and said Uchiha Madara wanted to offer him the job of assistant to Senju Tobirama, he’d been a little hesitant.

By that point, a blind man could see that something troublesome was going on with the leadership of the village, and that all the ripples seemed to be emanating from the wake of Senju Tobirama. 

Unsurprising, as he was also at the heart of the Village itself. Once he was looking for them, the echoes of Tobirama’s influence were everywhere. Far more than he’d ever seen from one person before. The younger Senju’s impact on the village was as incredible as it was suspicious. 

But that meant that an attack on him, destabilizing him, was an attack on Konoha that could bring down the fragile peace structure of the entire village.

Yano wasn’t as bold or confrontational as Ishohi. Whatever was going on, he doubted those involved (and there were certainly more people involved, even if he couldn’t place who just yet) would stop at a suspension if his family continued to meddle. 

But if the Village fell, his family likely wouldn’t be safe regardless. 

Beyond that, he liked the Village. It was nice, quiet, without the threat of perpetual clan annihilation because of an endless war that no one sane even cared about becoming the victor of anymore. No one wanted more victims. 

Still, he asked Ishohi for his thoughts before committing himself to the task. Doubtless, it would be even more dangerous than he thought it would be. 

“Do _you_ want to do it?” his husband replied, the morning light dappling his beautiful hair through the curtains.

Yano had shrugged, rubbing his hand up and down on Ishohi’s bare shoulder, soothing himself more than his indomitable husband. “Could be dangerous.”

To me. To _you_. He left it unsaid.

Ishohi had sat up, hair turning a burnished gold as it caught the sunlight as it shifted to drape around his face, blue eyes shining.

“We’re shinobi. And if anyone can see the cause of all this, it’s _you_,” Ishohi said with Yano’s favorite knowing smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

Yano didn’t believe it - really, he couldn’t be the only one in the whole village with sense, and he hadn’t even begun to gather all the pieces he could already tell were missing - but the kiss Ishohi had followed that declaration up with had silenced his doubts. If Ishohi was willing to risk it, Yano trusted the man enough to follow. 

He also knew that when Ishohi had seen him off to his first day of his new assignment, and said, “Knock them dead,” while straightening his scarf, his husband didn’t mean it metaphorically. 

Yano huffed, and deliberately didn’t return his husband’s vindictive grin. He could already tell that this was going to take a troublesome amount of work. 

But at least he knew exactly where, or more precisely whom, to start with.

Madara, when introducing him to his new workspace, had said that Tobirama’s old assistant had been disorganized. A fine enough person, the Uchiha was sure, but in over her head.

Having sifted through all of her papers, over the course of a week, taking the time to look over everything the woman had been involved with both in her old desk and the rest of Tobirama’s office, Yano was perfectly able to say that exactly none of that was true. 

If Tobirama’s last assistant had been truly inept, truly over her head, or even a fine person, Yano would eat his scarf. The woman had been deliberately sabotaging Tobirama from her position as his assistant. Yano was sure of it. Worse, it was clearly only the tip of a deep and dangerous iceberg that made up a much larger scheme. 

What’s more, he had proof. 

What to do with that proof, exactly, had him at a loss. Yano was no closer to fully understanding the purpose of the treachery, let alone who all was actively involved. He was certain of a few key figures, but only a few. Others were solidly in the ‘possibly involved’ pile, including nearly everyone of any standing in Konoha’s hierarchy. 

He could take it to his Clan Head, he supposed, or Inoue, but they were in no more a position to take action than he was. 

But, thanks to the Hyuuga’s inclusion, facilitated by Tobirama, the Komon elections hadn't been held yet. The only people with any real authority in the Village were still its founding clans. The Uchiha, and the Senju, neither of which could be exonerated. Yet. 

No one could be, except perhaps Tobirama himself. 

Because all the ripples and echoes that could be traced backwards from reverberation led to one, inescapable truth: Senju Tobirama was a good man. One who worked hard, told the truth, and genuinely seemed to want the best for the village. Regardless of all of the, rather brilliant in Yano’s opinion, misdirection and lies spoken and written about him, Tobirama was, at his core, an honorable man.

An honorable man who, clearly, expected others to be honorable too, the fool. It had left him wide open to this attack.

Or maybe not, because after having not seen the other man for the better part of a week, not since the Hokage’s return, The Ghost himself came storming into his office well after dark. By the look he sent Yano, he had clearly not expected anyone to still be there. 

For all that he looked _terrible_, Tobirama still recovered quickly enough.

“Nara-san,” Tobirama demanded as he walked into an office that hadn’t seen him in so long most people had actually stopped coming by to look for him. The address was polite still, but his tone was snapping, no doubt in a hurry. “I need the mission report from the eighth of September.”

The Senju didn’t wait for his answer, just continued past Yano’s reception area to his own workspace, which Yano supposed was a good thing, as the wards were stronger back there anyway. He pulled out the sealing scroll he’d decided to keep on himself at all times. He’d even taken to sleeping with it. 

Considering what it held, it seemed like a reasonable precaution. 

Evidence of an international conspiracy should be handled with caution after all. Yano wasn’t stupid enough to think that his digging would go unnoticed forever, and he doubted that the ring leaders would let his espionage go with the same indulgence they’d treated a medic doing his job.

He was very aware that he was not quite important enough yet to not ‘accidentally disappear.’

Unraveling the scroll, he brought his hands into the ram sign and unlocked just the one section.

A scroll in a scroll. One of many, but Tobirama had only asked for one. 

Then again, this could be his moment. He had a mountain of evidence just waiting for the right moment, the right, person to be delivered to. Tobirama had only asked for one piece. If Taka were still his assistant, no doubt she would have just handed over one of the many duplicates she’d filed and then kept in perfect order. 

It seemed to be Tobirama’s habit to create two copies of every report he filed, one for submission and keep one for his own personal records. 

Yano knew that he was expecting the latter copy but... perhaps this was the moment he’d been waiting for, to take a leap and give his findings over to the man at the heart of the issue. 

It could be his only moment to do so, because, unless he missed his guess (drawn from the fact that he could quite literally feel how exhausted the other man was and the only reason the conspirators could have for driving the other man into the ground so thoroughly), he might not ever see the other man again.

As said, Tobirama could be nothing but a good man. One of the few that Yano had uncovered in his investigation.

So, he flashed through five more hand seals, _monkey, hare, ox, rat, tiger_, and pulled out another scroll. The one Tobirama, or Taka rather, had submitted to the Hokage’s office as the official report to be reviewed and recorded.

The tale the two together told was a horrifying one. One full of impossibilities. A thousand different heres and theres, routes down decision trees, bends and whirls that lead back to one split in possibilities. One truth and one lie. 

An impossibility, caused by the fact that the handwriting on both the scrolls was the same. Not, appeared the same, or was close to the same. The identical _same_.

Either Tobirama had written one truth and one lie, then submitted one and kept the other so he always kept a record of the truth of his lie. The theory was as unlikely as it was ridiculous. Everyone who worked with him knew that Tobirama was meticulous. He kept records of everything, sure enough, but if it were Tobirama trying to fool someone going looking, he would have kept the versions of events consistent to avoid suspicion. Why would he need to keep evidence that he’d falsified his reports to the Hokage for someone to find the first time they searched his office to compare the two?

Unless, it was Tobirama’s own suspicion that needed to be avoided. Then the fact that the record in his office, the one he would reach for to verify details and events hazy to memory or otherwise required for recollection, was varied from the one submitted could only lead to one conclusion: that the scrolls in Tobirama’s office held the truths, and the ones submitted had to be the lie.

And what clever, brilliantly subtle lies they were. Slight variances in phrasing to shift the overall tone of the reports, hinting at grievances and altercations at some points, outward hostility at others, and plain omission in others. All of them followed the same pattern of telling the events of the original incidents with a twist to make it appear that Tobirama had acted, if not outwardly inappropriate, then with a definite undertone of hostility both towards his brother and the village as a whole. All of them, except the September eighth mission. That one wasn’t full of rewordings or misnomers, it was just a lie. One made to paint a villain out of an injured party.

Yano could read between the lines. A _very_ injured party.

A knife to the back wasn’t something that anybody but Senju Tobirama could easily walk off. 

The falsified report was a masterclass. Someone, obviously someone _brilliant_, had managed to spin and twist events into not only placing the Senju to blame for the incident, but also done so with enough vagueness that the subsequent interrogation, which must have occurred in light of the inflammatory contents, to not bring up any of the inconsistencies. Just like Tobirama’s original report, painting Tobirama as the instigator, rather than the victim of the incident was entirely between the lines. 

Brilliant.

And horrifying. 

Yano took his scrolls into the office to find Tobirama already at his desk, scribbling away at what looked like instructions. Quietly, Yano hoped they were for him. He was to the point in his investigation where someone else, someone of power and position needed to step in to make decisions about what to actually do with the information. 

If it was anyone's prerogative to act, it was Tobirama’s.

“Here’s your copy of the September eighth mission,” Yano said, setting down the first scroll on the desk. Tobirama nodded, dismissive, but Yano equally dismissed that gesture and set down the _other_ scroll. “And _this_ is the report for the September eighth mission that was submitted to the Hokage’s office in your name.”

Tobirama’s pen stopped. Blood red eyes met his. Yano refused to flinch.

“Where did you get this?” asked Tobirama, picking up the scrolls.

“The records room, where all such reports are filed per the protocol you designed. The indexing system was simple enough. You should read it.”

A pale eyebrow rose in response, but Tobirama did as suggested. 

The stillness that fell over him highlighted the exact moment he came upon the changes. He took the original he’d asked for and unravelled it as well. He looked between them. 

“Who all has seen this?” Tobirama asked. 

“Beyond you and I? I don’t know.”

“And why, exactly, are you showing it to me?”

The instinctual part of Yano’s brain, the parts left over to ancient, primordial feelings not swayed by reason, saw the slow way Tobirama looked up from the scrolls to measure him and recognized that he was staring down a predator vastly more dangerous to himself. Not one that he would likely survive. But Yano pushed against the irrationality and firmly ignored the way it made his heart rate tick up. 

“Because you haven’t seen them before,” he replied blandly.

“You sound certain,” stated Tobirama.

“I am.” 

Tobirama blinked, but didn’t feel any less of a threat as he looked down and said, “I see.”

Yano shrugged, regaining the man’s attention at the movement (and reasserting the instinctive feeling of being prey). “Also, I figured that if anyone should see them, you should.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you are the victim of a Village-wide, perhaps even international conspiracy. One that aims to destabilize Konoha as a whole by discrediting the men, and the ideals at the heart of it. And they are using you to do it.”

“So, you want me to believe that you have single-handedly uncovered this conspiracy, and your first thought was to inform me. A risk on the assumption that I am not involved.”

“Not my first thought, no,” Yano said wryly. “But it was the only move that made sense now.”

This time, when the Senju looked up, Yano was left with no doubt that he was being measured. For his truthfulness, or perhaps his coffin size. Could be both. Hard to say. 

He’d made his move though. A calculated risk. It was the Senju’s move now.

Yano couldn’t say he was particularly worried.

“Hm,” Tobirama didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree either, so Yano would take it. “Why should I believe that you are not a part of this ‘conspiracy’? You could be leading me into a trap. ‘Uncovering’ something that is known to be false could just as easily implicate me in treachery.”

Shrugging, Yano said, “I suppose you could, but I doubt that at this stage in their plan that they would attempt to make contact with you, or clue you in to their plans in a way that would make you cautious of a double-cross. No, that will likely come later.”

“Perhaps. But much of this game has been beyond me. Perhaps your motives are yet unseen.”

“I hardly have the means, let alone the motive, to work so hard to undermine you. Especially if I then planned to tell you about it here, with no back up or way out that you couldn’t easily overwhelm. I’m a nobody. You’re Senju Tobirama. In a fight, we both know who’d win.” Tobirama’s face didn’t change, but Yano knew he was turning that over in his mind. So, he continued, “Besides, I barely know you. Seems needlessly troublesome to do all this work of implicating you as a traitor and then tell you about the plan.”

“Perhaps your motives are just unknown to me. Everyone has a price.”

The quiet ripple of rainlashed chakra that brushed Yano was a clear threat, but again, the Nara was unbothered. He’d expected this. Tobirama was right, they barely knew each other. Tobirama had no reason to trust him. 

“Most likely,” Yano conceded, his point. “And I do have a price, but it’s a pretty simple one.”

“And?” Tobirama asked. 

_What do you want?_

Shrugging again, Yano said, “I’d like to stay off the couch and in my own bed. My husband’s pretty insistent that we help you.”

Tobirama blinked. The lashing chakra subsided in his surprise. “Your husband?”

Yano unwrapped the silk lavender scarf he wore everywhere, had since the day Ishohi had given it to him. He held the end out for Tobirama’s inspection where the Nara clan symbol was embroidered. Then he flipped it over, to show the matching Yamanaka symbol on the other side.

“Yamanaka Ishohi. _Doctor_ Yamanaka Ishohi. He’s very sorry he was made to miss your appointment.”

“... I see.”

Yes, Yano suspected he was beginning to.

“And if I were to ask you to do something for me?”

Ah. A test then. Of loyalty or ability. 

It didn’t matter. Either way, Yano was more than ready to have something more interesting to do than untangling a web of paperwork.

“Whatever you need, boss.”

-

Hikaku was beginning to think that maybe he was mistaken about his own threshold for patience. 

“I’m telling you, something is going on.”

This made the sixth consecutive day that Hikaku had been trying to track down Tobirama. He’d been trying to talk to the man since after the welcome festival, wanted to give condolences and best wishes for his aunt, make sure he was doing alright. Tobirama had only ever mentioned two members of his family by name; Touka and this aunt Niita. 

They hadn’t been close long, but a day hadn’t passed in the last two months that Hikaku hadn’t spent at least several hours in the other man’s presence. Apart from this last week.

Hikaku wasn’t the kind of person who let friends go through hardship alone.

But Tobirama was gone. Gossip said he’d barely been allowed a short visit to the hospital before Hashirama had found some reason to send him out of the Village. He’d barely been seen since.

Those who had seen him had sounded worried. 

Not only that, but Hikaku had other reasons for wanting to speak with Tobirama. Some unofficial, like the wishes for his aunt, and to tell him of the progress Hikaku had made using an actual _suiton_ jutsu, but some of it was official Village business and the Senju was nowhere to be found. 

“I’m serious, Madara. Something’s wrong.”

They were both in the Hokage Tower, well past nightfall, moonlight shining in through the windows to one side of the corridore nearly enough to see by. Hikaku had his _sharingan_ activated anyways in deference to the low light. Tobirama’s absence might not have been the disaster that it reportedly had been before, but it was still enough to keep them all busy from before dawn until after dusk.

Hikaku kept close behind his cousin, stalked his steps because he didn’t care how little Madara wanted to hear it, _something was going on_.

“I’ve told you, Tobirama is on a mission.”

“Several missions. The gate guards have registered his coming and going _seven times_ now. With no down time in between.”

Madara glanced over his shoulder at him, and Hikaku made what might have been a flailing gesture for _“see!”_

“I’m telling you-”

“I heard you,” Madara said, sounding infuriatingly dubious. “Even if there is, what would you like me to do about it?”

“Talk to the Hokage! He’s your friend.”

Madara looked back ahead. Hikaku could see from the line of his shoulder that his cousin was scowling.

“Hashirama’s a busy man and a newlywed. I doubt he has time-”

“Then make him make time! I’m seri-”

Speak of the devil. Or in this case the Ghost.

The door to Tobirama’s office, which had been empty of just about anyone for days now, opened just ahead of them in the hallway and the man himself came out.

He looked _terrible_. His usual ruler-straight posture was hunched. He was as pale as ever, but his skin looked thin somehow, translucent. Hikaku’s _sharingan_ could see blood vessels that peaked through the pale skin, too close to the surface and a bruise only just turning green out of the deep purple along the line of his jaw, barely visible above his _happuri_. His clothes and armor were caked in mud and the bags under his bloodshot eyes were sunken and bruised. 

But his face, as usual, was stoic. Focused. Like he couldn’t even see them in front of him. 

Hikaku wished he hadn’t been so patient. 

“Tobirama,” he began, drawing the Senju’s weary eye to them, where they lingered for too long. Hikaku didn’t even really know what he wanted to say.

“Hikaku-san. Madara-sama,” he greeted, but didn’t stop. 

“Where are you going?” Madara asked.

Hikaku glanced sideways at his cousin at the accusation in his tone, but Madara looked… startled. Shocked. It made his tone sharper than he’d intended. 

Tobirama didn’t even seem to register it though; his face gave nothing away. 

At the time, Hikaku hadn’t really noticed that he was better able to read the Senju the more time he’d spent with him, hadn’t noticed the albino’s walls falling until they were now firmly back in place. The contrast was startling.

“I have a mission,” was Tobirama’s too simple answer.

“But-” Hikaku tried to interrupt, but Tobirama cut him off.

“Apologies. Hokage’s orders. There is to be no delay,” he said, bowed to them, and walked right past them.

Their eyes followed him until he disappeared around the perpetual curve of the building.

Hikaku turned back to Madara, vindicated.

“Convinced?” he demanded. 

Solemn and more serious than Hikaku could remember seeing him since the war, Madara nodded. 

“I don’t care what the mission is,” the Uchiha Clan Head said, “Go with him.”

Relief bloomed sweet and breathless in Hikaku’s chest. He nodded his agreement and immediately began planning. He had no idea what kind of mission he would be on, so he needed to very quickly prepare for anything if he wanted to keep up. 

“What are you going to do?” Hikaku asked.

Still, _still_ Madara seemed to hesitate, but he finally sighed just enough for Hikaku to know he’d won.

“Fine,” Madara conceded. “I’ll speak to the Hokage. Now go, or you’re going to miss him.”

Hikaku didn’t intend to.

-

Nothing in Tobirama’s life had been easy. 

Struggle. Survival. The most basic of aspects of all life on earth had dominated his entire existence. Even things he’d pursued for pleasure were all based in the need to be better, stronger, faster. Dedication to his family, to his warrior craft, to his creed as a shinobi and a man had consumed every hour of his waking life. As it should be, there was no other worthwhile way to live. Man appears on earth for but a little while. They all have a duty to fill that time with only things that matter, lest the wasted time be consigned to an eternity of grief, remembering that which was loss.

Tobirama had long since made his peace with this, and in his dedication had achieved peace within himself, and the understanding that he was living his life to its fullest. Life. In every breath. 

But he had never been so tired. Now, he could feel each moment slip by as the haze of exhaustion sought to darken his thoughts, rob him of his clarity. It was made worse by the knowledge that even if he did everything right, made every move correctly, these might be his final days regardless.

He wanted to be worthy of them. 

Which is why Uchiha Hikaku waiting for him at the gate was quite possibly the last thing he wanted.

“I’m coming with you,” the Uchiha stated, before Tobirama could even demand to know what he thought he was doing.

It was not something Tobirama could allow.

“No,” he disagreed. “This mission is mine alone.”

Hikaku levelled a flat look at him.

“Listen, we can sit and argue out here in front of the entire village, and all these ears will get to hear everything that’s been happening to you and the Hok-”

“Uchiha-san,” Tobirama cut him off, and Hikaku grinned like he’d won.

Maybe he had.

“Besides,” Hikaku continued. “The ranking system and chain of command have yet to be finalized. Until they are, I answer to my Clan Head. And he has ordered that I accompany you.”

It was easier when all the Uchiha feared him.

Tobirama glared. “This isn’t a game. It’s dangerous.”

“Yes. Exactly why I’m not going to let you go alone.”

Sighing, Tobirama was very aware of the way the guards by the gates, new ones he didn’t recognize, not a good sign, were trying valiantly to appear like they weren’t listening. He could feel the curious eyes of the innkeeper sweeping their _engawa_ in the evening air, and that of his guest smoking from a pipe, feet dangling, piercing into his back, and took a step closer. 

When he was close enough that just Hikaku could hear him, he said, “Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do” -and he did, more than he could say- “I know you think you’re helping, but putting yourself in danger for my sake will do me no favors.”

“Save it,” Hikaku whispered back with a glare, _sharingan_ flashing, but Tobirama didn’t flinch the way he would have if he didn’t know Hikaku by now. He knew Hikaku didn’t mean anything by it. It was just dark. “Someone is trying to _kill_ you, and if you think I’m just going to sit by and let that happen, you think less of me than I deserve.”

The chimes that hung from the shoulder of the Uchiha’s blacks clinked quietly in the dark as Hikaku made a cutting gesture in frustration. 

Tobirama looked at him, really looked, and saw his own resolve reflected back. He knew that this was not an argument they could conclude out here in the open.

“... Very well. Keep up,” Tobirama ordered, more than slightly annoyed. 

Hikaku grinned anyways and nodded.

When Tobirama set a blistering pace through the woods, Hikaku was never more than a breath behind him. 

His overtired muscles didn’t let him maintain that speed for long. He’d taken to stopping for sleep before returning to Konoha for a few hours at a time. It shared the dual function of allowing him whatever rest he could get, but also giving whatever forces were watching him an understanding of his routine, an understanding he had exploited to return ahead of schedule. But skipping that sleep had it left him tired. 

Well, that and the drain from the clone he’d left with Izuna. He hadn’t been able to return to his home in over a week. Even if he’d had the time, he was unwilling to risk it with how closely he was being watched. 

(At least he knew the clone was still there. If it had dispelled, his chakra levels might have had a chance to recover. The exhaustion carving into his bones said otherwise.

He had been obsessively checking the two way communication scroll, making sure to send a message that he was still alive, and to make sure that his patient was as well. If nothing else, it was a reassuring way to track the days.)

Either way, this new mission would take days to complete. It was near dawn. Stopping now would be wisest.

He had to persuade Hikaku to return to the Village regardless.

He _had_ to. 

Tobirama wasn’t sure what he would do if he could not convince the other man. He had led men to their deaths before. Too many times. But none of them had been friends. Not in the way Hikaku was becoming. 

Hikaku was the age Kawarama would have been now. They were similar, he supposed. Dedicated. Loyal. Too stubborn for their own good. 

He had a whole life to lead. He didn’t need to tether himself to Tobirama, born under a bad star. His was not a fate he would share willingly.

He dropped from the tree tops at the next clearing he saw that was large enough for a camp, but secluded enough by underbrush to cover their rest. In the morning, he would continue his mission, and the next, and the next, and Hikaku would go home and leave him to his fate.

“I’ll get wood for a fire.”

“No,” Tobirama disagreed, “No fires. It’s too dangerous.”

“We’re still in Konoha lands,” Hikaku protested, “You need to eat real food.”

Tobirama stared him down. He didn’t know how to explain to the Uchiha that rest was more important than food at this point, that ration bars would suffice, that, in his recent experience, _nowhere_ was safe. 

He doubted explaining any of that would help to convince Hikaku to leave. He ran the possible risk versus the fact that he would need all the help he could get for this conversation and weighed that risk and reward against the the determined look on Hikaku’s face. 

“... Fine,” he conceded. “But be quick.”

Tobirama sank like a puppet with his strings cut. If Hikaku wanted to make camp, he could do it himself. Tobirama didn’t have the energy to spare. 

His side hurt. A rogue had gotten in a lucky shot. His ribs were bruised, though not broken, his armor had taken the worst of it. He hadn’t bothered to heal it all the way as he had his broken knuckles or the knife wound in his calf. 

Like the food and the fire, concessions had been made. 

Tobirama hadn’t ever thought his death would come easy, not since he’d held Kawarama’s limp body, rattling and gasping for breath into ruined lungs, mouth working on words he would never say. 

But he hadn’t thought he would be so tired. 

At least Hikaku took him at his word and rushed. Tobirama felt like he’d blinked, and Hikaku was pushing a bowl of rice and what looked like rabbit. There was even some kind of broccoli that he’d got from somewhere. Tobirama couldn’t even hazard a guess as to where. Perhaps he brought it from home. 

The exhaustion made the smell of the food slightly nauseating, and eating it turned his stomach over it, but Tobirama soldiered on. 

Hikaku was right. He needed the calories. So, he ate without tasting anything. 

Once the nausea passed, he realized he felt warm, from the food and the small fire Hikaku had built. Sleep called hard, but he ruthlessly ignored it.

He set his empty bowl aside. “You should return to Konoha.”

Across the flames, Hikaku scowled. “I’m not going to do that.”

Tobirama ground his teeth, frustrated. Why couldn’t people just accept that his decisions were well reasoned? That he made them all because he had to, because he’d looked at all the options and there was only one course of action left.

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand enough,” Hikaku disagreed.

“Clearly not if you think that this is the best way to aid me,” Tobirama replied flatly.

“And what would you rather I do? Nothing?” asked Hikaku, clearly frustrated but Tobirama didn’t care.

“That is exactly what you should do. I have things well in hand,” the Senju said, looking down at where his hands had fallen into his lap.

They were dirty, blistered and cracked, blowback from a _katon_, on top of the knicks and scraped knuckles that came of a week in the wild. There was dried blood on one. He tried to wipe it off with his opposite thumb.

His distraction likely didn’t help his cause.

“Yes, I can see that,” Hikaku said, surprisingly gentle despite the sarcasm of the words, “You look like you haven't slept in days.”

“That's hardly relevant,” Tobirama stated like the fact it was. 

Hikaku apparently disagreed. Vehemently. 

“Of course it's relevant! You could die-”

And Tobirama went from tired to annoyed, furious even, the way that only extreme stress caused.

“Only if you've come to the erroneous conclusion that any of this is about me. That it matters at all what happens to me.”

Hikaku’s voice rose in response. “Of course it matters-”

“That is selfish _weakness_-”

“-You _matter!_-”

“-to put my comfort over-”

“-and you’re going to run yourself-

“-the survival of the peace!”

Tobirama realized suddenly that he was shouting, that they were both shouting, and how dangerous that was. 

Hikaku seemed to realize it too. Both of them had stopped listening, just shouting over one another. 

The silence that fell in its wake was ugly as the wood gently hissed and popped between them.

Tobirama let out his breath slowly between clenched teeth. He didn’t want to fight with Hikaku. The man was one of the few people he’d ever met that seemed to genuinely enjoy his company. Or otherwise put on a good show of it, one Tobirama had come to rely on. It made this so much harder than it needed to be.

Evidently, Hikaku didn’t want to fight either. When he spoke again, it was measured. Reasonable, in a way that didn’t quite hide the plea within. 

“Explain it to me then.”

“What?” Tobirama replied.

“If you're so adamant that I have it wrong, then explain it to me. Because right now, from where I'm standing, it looks like your brother is trying to kill you.”

Tobirama looked into the eyes of the other man he _still_ wasn’t sure he could trust. He hadn’t forgotten that just months ago, an Uchiha blade had buried itself in his side, that Hikaku had stood to defend the kinsman that put it there. Hadn’t forgotten the years of war. The family he’d buried. The brothers.

But…

He didn’t give way to sentiment often, but Hikaku had become something of a brother over the last few months. A brother in arms if nothing else. The man had stepped up and stood beside him with the Hyuuga, and trusted him in what was undoubtedly hostile territory. Had helped, had taken over Tobirama's duties while his brother was off getting married with competence even though he didn’t have to. Despite Tobirama’s quiet, cautious misgivings, Hikaku hadn’t sabotaged, or done anything at all to make Tobirama’s life difficult. He could have. It would have been easy. Hashirama and even Madara were out of town, and Tobirama knew, between the two of them, who would be believed.

Instead, Hikaku had tried to _help_.

No one else had.

And that meant something. Meant a lot.

Perhaps, if Tobirama were truly almost done, he didn’t have much left to lose anyways. Perhaps, on this occasion, he could accept, just once, that he could use some help.

He looked down and sighed.

“Very well. I will tell you what I know.”

Hikaku settled in to listen.

“I can only assume that it began the day my brother spared your Clan Head. As I’m sure you are aware, not everyone in my clan was pleased with the extent of Hashirama’s clemency.”

“I could have guessed,” Hikaku said.

“At first it was small things, in general, beneath my notice. Reports would go missing, messages miss-carried or otherwise ill-received. Most of which, I chose to ignore, assuming that it originated from your family.”

Tobirama didn’t need to look up and meet Hikaku’s eye. He could feel the other man’s discomfort regardless.

“I chose to ignore these things as well as I was able, providing that I remained the target while the rest of the work being done was allowed to continue unhindered, because regardless of my reputation, I could understand where your people were coming from. I know my hands are not clean. It was my brother’s opinion and my own that the slights against me were, if not excusable, forgivable, in the face of the past already walked and the future we were striving for. So, I did as ordered, and let things go.”

Pausing, Tobirama thought how best to put the next part. He was not a man prone to vanity, but humility was not a strong suit either.

Perhaps, if he had been better about admitting his faults sooner, he would not be in this predicament to begin with. But that was in the past. For now, he could only do better. 

“This was, if not my first mistake, my most grievous. I let my own opinions about your family, what I thought they would and wouldn’t do, blind me to other possibilities. Because, while it is true that there were indeed concerted efforts by fractions of Uchiha that sought to harm me, I can no longer believe that they were the only culprits. Rather, I must believe that the sabotage has emanated from members of my own clan as well.”

“From the Senju?” Hikaku asked, incredulous. “But why?”

“Because Hashirama no longer enjoys the support of our clan elders,” answered Tobirama.

“But why? He’s ended the war, brought peace.”

“Perhaps. But imagine if I had been the one to die.”

“...What do you mean?”

“If Izuna had lived, and I had been the one to fall. How would your clan have expected Madara to react? Would they have been ready to capitulate? To sue for peace? To accept _our_ suits for peace? If I were no longer there to stand in the way, would Izuna have accepted anything less than the total annihilation of the Senju? Would your elders?” Tobirama looked up to meet Hikaku’s wide eyes. “Would you?”

“I…”

Tobirama didn’t need to hear his answer. He knew.

“The Uchiha seemed more than willing to shuck off Madara’s leadership in their demands for surrender. I imagine they would have done the same if he had demanded leniency. If he had denied all of you a victory you had fought and suffered and died for for over a hundred years.”

Across from him, Hikaku looked down, perhaps ashamed of the truths spoken. He didn’t need to be. It was only hypothetical. They would never know how he or his clan would have responded, and the course the Uchiha _had_ taken had been nothing but honorable.

Tobirama moved on.

“In the Uchiha, such a shucking off of displeasing leadership is allowed. Your policy of ‘might makes right’ is efficacious in war times perhaps, but the legitimacy of your Clan Head is often called into question for it.”

“Sometimes,” Hikaku allowed. “But it’s not that simple.”

Nodding, Tobirama said, “I imagine not. Regardless, that is not how the Senju see the world.

“In the eyes of my people, and our ancestors before us, all nature is composed of a great chain of being. There is an order to the world, a harmony that only exists when that order lay undisrupted. Everyone is born into that order exactly where they are meant to be. Their existence is defined by that. This is why my brother was born to be the Clan Head, and I was born to support him. The rest of the Senju follow his orders not only because he is strong and good, brave and upright, but they believe that he is all of those things because he was born to rule. It is not our place to question that.”

“It sounds like aristocratic nonsense,” Hikaku said.

“Perhaps, but I assure you that the Uchiha method of violent usurpation seems rather barbaric to us.”

“It’s rarely all that violent,” Hikaku began to explain, but they didn’t have time for this. They were getting off track.

“And our belief in destiny and karma is rarely that straight forward,” Tobirama interrupted, “Regardless, it does mean that any defection against my brother’s leadership should be impossible. Immoral to the highest degree. Unthinkable.”

When he didn’t continue, Hikaku prompted, “But?”

“But,” agreed Tobirama, not needing to say more. Hikaku understood.

“So, you think your own clan is sabotaging you?” Hikaku asked again, apparently still not believing.

Tobirama shook his head. “Not me. It would be much easier if it was me they were targeting. Worse, it is my brother.”

_My last brother._

“But why?” Hikaku sounded lost and confused in a way Tobirama wished he still were. 

“Because we had won. In the eyes of our clan, the Senju had won the war. Or rather, I had won it for them. And Hashirama threw that victory away.”

“Them?” Hikaku pressed. “Not for yourself.”

Tobirama looked to the flames again, and shook his head. “I fight for my brother. No one else.”

“But he’s trying to kill you. He clearly thinks you’re a threat.”

Taking a long moment to push through the weight of the answer he had to give, Tobirama let the night’s stillness fall around them. Let the shadows of the trees sway, the fire breathe, the stars shine in their everlasting constancy, a silent comfort. 

He said, “If Hashirama wishes my death, he has but to ask.”

Hikaku didn’t seem to know how to answer that. Tobirama let the moment pass, resolve having been strengthened somehow by saying the words aloud. 

He could not falter now.

After a long moment, Hikaku asked, “So, if you don’t believe that Hashirama wants you dead, then I don’t understand. What’s the point?”

“I believe that it is the desire of those engaged in the efforts to fracture the relationship between my brother and myself that I will give way to the suspicions that you have fallen prey to. That I will kill my elder brother and usurp him to save my own life. They have been trying, successfully, to use your clan to force me to it.”

“Use the Uchiha? You think my people are in league with them?”

Tobirama shook his head.

“While it is not a scenario easily ruled out, I doubt it. Rather, they have used the independent actions of your clan to smokescreen their own. Also they knew that Hashirama would never side with me if it meant alienating the Uchiha. They have used that to drive a wedge further between us.”

“But you know that there is Uchiha sabotage as well?” asked Hikaku.

Sending him a flat look, Tobirama said, “The knife buried in my back left little doubt.”

“But they couldn’t have known that would happen unless they were in league with Saito.”

“No,” Tobirama conceded, “but they could be relatively certain that an event of a similar nature would take place. After all, I have no doubt they have been feeding the rumors of my hostility towards your clan for months. Perhaps from even before the peace treaties were signed.”

Hikaku was silent at this revelation.

Tobirama went on, laying out his evidence. “Malicious gossip, Uchiha’s stonewalling me at every turn, reports missing or mis-filed. It has been nearly impossible to suss out who is actually involved in trying to overthrow Hashirama and who is just being difficult because they dislike me personally. But the events of the last few weeks have left little doubt. Why else would such chaos be intentionally wrought in my absence, only to melt away upon my return? Someone has gone out of their way to make me appear more competent and my brother more useless than we actually are.”

Hikaku was finally looking thoughtful rather than poleaxed. Tobirama would take it.

“I will admit, I was confused for a time, particularly by the Hyuuga mission. I believed I had understood the plot, or at least the motives and probable methods of it, but if I were correct, the Hyuuga mission should have been an easy success to better bolster my international reputation, and therefore damage my brother’s.”

“That’s because it _was_ supposed to be easy,” Hikaku said, “That one was us.”

“Us?” Tobirama asked to clarify.

“The Uchiha. Well, an Uchiha. And it had nothing to do with you. It was an internal issue, one that was dealt with. Thoroughly,” Hikaku revealed. 

“... I see,” Tobirama said, and he did.

On the one hand, that clarified things. On the other, it was the first information Hikaku had shared with him about the inner workings of his clan. Tobirama was no fool. He had heard the rumors and knew that the Uchiha were doing their best to keep their business ‘in house’. He knew that Hikaku admitting to the internal strife within the Uchiha was an important gesture of good faith. 

The young Uchiha felt nothing but honest to his senses. It was reassuring, to find his trust not misplaced. 

“I assume that is connected to the way the rest of the Uchiha sabotage has equally halted?” Tobirama asked.

“That would not be an illogical leap. Madara was quite clear.”

Tobirama hummed his agreement and turned this new bit of information over in his mind. 

Removing the anomaly of the Hyuuga mission, the picture became all that much more clear.

“Can you confirm any other acts that were carried out by your clan alone?”

“Maybe a few,” Hikaku admitted, “But I don’t understand. Do you know who’s in charge of all of it? If it’s not your brother, then why don’t you go to him with the information? Why do you keep dancing to their tune if it’s going to get you killed?”

“Because I do not yet have all of the pieces. I have guesses, hypotheses based on those guesses but I have yet to acquire either the entire picture or hard evidence. If I go to Hashirama now, he will no doubt act precipitously in my defense, perhaps ruining our chances at ever finding all the culprits.” 

The fire was dying, fizzling, suffocating. Hikaku nudged it and added another log while Tobirama continued.

“If given the slightest chance to escape, I have no doubt that they will simply wait, bide their time, and strike again when we may not have the strength or forewarning to outmaneuver them.”

“But-” Hikaku went to reply, but Tobirama didn’t hear him.

He held up a hand, feeling his heart skip, slow, then roar in alarm. 

“Move!” Tobirama shouted as he dove backwards just in time for the ground below him to explode. 

Dark, writhing shapes followed him into the trees. He sent a barrage of kunai, but the ropelike tendrils wove and dodged them. Trying to outrun them, he flipped and lept from branch to branch, seeing Hikaku do the same from the corner of his eye. 

More tendrils appeared at his left, He drew his sword, slicing through the shape in the same motion.

They were strong, but his blade was sharp. The tendrils feathered like a snapped cable and fell away in thin, black wire. 

The shapes retreated.

Tobirama fell from the treetops into the widest bit of open ground he could find. Whatever it was, he wanted to see it coming. 

Hikaku fell in, panding beside him, but staff held firm, eyes blazing.

“What do you see?” Tobirama asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Hikaku replied, voice tight in alarm. “It looks like-”

“Well, well. Two bounties for the price of one,” a deep voice rumbled through the dark.

Across the clearing, what looked like a man, dark skinned, hooded and masked, but stitched together in gruesome seams stepped out of the clearing.

“Uchiha Hikaku,” the man, if it was a man, said, luminous green eyes pupiless, rimmed in red and glowing from across the clearing, “And Senju Tobirama. A fortune before me.” 

Bending over, the demon spread his arms and the stitched seams, what could have been recent wounds or scars, split and stretched apart, bulging as black tendrils flew out of the seams until their length had easily tripled, viscous killing intent spread between them.

The demon seemed to lick its lips beneath the mask.

“Perhaps I will even add your beating hearts to my collection.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It’s been a while <3
> 
> As always, a huge shout out to LostInThePines. There is no better beta or sister on earth. 
> 
> Next order of business, our moderate cliffhanger. Yes, that is indeed Kakuzu, here to make everyone’s life more difficult. Also, yes I know that Kishimoto gave him a different backstory, but I didn’t like it because it only barely could possibly fit in the timeline and it was kind of lame, so he now has a new one. And he is here in all his terrifying glory. Don’t @ me… unless you want to of course XD
> 
> Also, some of you may have noticed several references to one of my favorite movies “The Last Samurai”. They were indeed intentional, and if you spotted them, congratulations! You have earned an author’s cookie! It’s totally worthless other than being delicious. Enjoy it and know that I love you.
> 
> Lastly, I would like to give out a huge, heartfelt _thank you_ to everyone who’s commented or reached out to me on other platforms with wonderful words of encouragement. The reception of this fic has been overwhelming and wonderful. This is the first fic of this size that I have attempted, and it’s been amazing to hear how much you guys seem to love and enjoy it.
> 
> However, I’m afraid we’ve reached the point where I am no longer going to be able to respond to every comment. There are several factors in this decision, none of which are ingratitude, but as an adult with responsibilities and full-time work, I have a very limited, finite amount of free time. It is being stretched to breaking point by just trying to get this fic written. There just aren’t enough hours in the day to both get the writing done that I need to and also answer all of my wonderful comments, no matter how much I would like to. Also, an old wrist injury is beginning to flare with all of the strain from writing so much, so often. The situation has become untenable. 
> 
> It’s really sad, because I love answering your comments and interacting with you guys, but I have to make this decision. I hope you will all keep commenting, knowing that I read and dote over all of them. I will still try and answer any that have a direct question, or you can reach out to me at my tumblr: https://madmothmadame.tumblr.com/ or on discord at @madmothmadame#5770 if you’d just like to chat.
> 
> See you next time!


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